


Tooth and Claw

by Crescent_Moon_Demon



Series: Kittycons and Autodogs universe [3]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, F/F, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Kittycon/Autodog verse, M/M, Mpreg, Romance, Size Difference, Slash, Slice of Life, Sparklings, Sticky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2018-03-15 08:37:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 38
Words: 147,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3440642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crescent_Moon_Demon/pseuds/Crescent_Moon_Demon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every story, there are several inbetween stories. Your favourite autodogs and kittycons come to share their own adventures in this second collection of tales! Tie-in to "With Perfect Abandonment", and sequel to "Ears and Tails"; ratings to vary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blades

**C.M.D: Yes there are times when I get carried away with some ideas... This would be a prime example. Having hit 50 chapters in Ears and Tails, I'm hoping to sate the last of my muses in this (please be final!) installation. Fingers crossed that it won't exceed fifty chapters!**  
 **Just like in Ears and Tails, each chapter title proclaims who the story's about; ratings included with every post, and there's always a censored version available on FF.net.**  
 **Originally posted January 14, 2013**

**Chapter 1: Blades**  
 **Rating: T**

He watched him from afar...

White plating, so pristine. Glowing in the sunlight, striped with red, here and there. His adorable, smiling face -bared for once, instead of hidden behind a visor or mask- allowing the very sky to kiss his blushing cheekplates. Laughter, cute and warm, bubbled out from within; shimmering in his baby blue optics, even as they half-shuttered with his delight.

Primus... he was beautiful.

His brother: young, free, unmarred, perfect. Innocent... full of life and love...

The mech gripped the hilt of his knives, the grooves and dips in the steel biting harshly into his palms. His leathered palms... He was not innocent. He was not unmarred. There was nothing young or free left in his spark any longer. He was just insane; out of control; a killer; a monster. So much stained his servos.

But First Aid...

He sighed, taking a step back further into the shadows of his roost. The little australian shepherd was so... good. He had such compassion and warmth in his spark; more than enough to give to the whole world! Slaggit, the younger autodog even went and became a vet and everything!

How then, could he ever dare to think he should be near his baby brother?

Knowing how crazy he was, he was bound to probably taint First Aid in some way or form.

...but... Watching that little autodog, walk about so peacefully and merrily, always with a bounce in his step and kindness in his optics, made the stranger realize just how much there was to protect... and how much more there was to lose, if he didn't.

So what if he wasn't worthy of being near the other mech?

"Aid..."

At least he'd keep him safe. Even if it was from the shadows. And from mechs like himself.

"I...I love you...," Blades whispered, stepping back and fading from sight completely.


	2. Blades and First Aid

**C.M.D: Just as I inspire my friends, I in turn am inspired by them. When my good friend Randomus began writing about his own version of the Wreckers in kittycon verse, I fell in love with them. First Aid's family is heavily influenced by such stories, and though I will explain some of the history, for a thorough background I greatly recommend reading Randomus' works! Check him out here:** www.fanfiction.net/s/8982881/1/Wreckers-Online  
 **Because some scenes in here are pretty mature, if at any point you feel uncomfortable, there is a censored version on FF.net for anybody interested.**

**Title: Blades and First Aid**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warning: Incest and implied rape**

Blades was coming.

First Aid practically ran through his front door, remembering to close it behind him a moment later, all abuzz with excitement. His carrier had called him last night to inform him that his estranged brother, Blades, would be stopping by Iacon for a visit. The bull terrier, usually so busy and never around, had promised to stop by at their parents' home for dinner that orn. It would be an understatement to say that First Aid was looking forward to seeing him again.

Since the time he was young, he'd always loved Blades. His brother was strong, fast, witty... A lot of mechs called him a monster, some even said he was insane. But for the australian shepherd, who knew the history that revolved around the older mech, he didn't care. Blades was Blades. He had always been that way. And nothing said or shown, could stop his gentle spark from caring for his brother as deeply as he did.

"I... I hope he likes my new outfit." The autodog smiled at his reflection in his berthroom mirror, carefully taking out his brand new clothes from the closet. Not one to usually care about overtly pretty or expensive things, First Aid had caved when he saw the simple but cute pale baby blue blouse at the boutique near the hospital. It had a trimmed collar and cuffs, with two buttons in the shape of little birds on the front. The sleeves wore fairly tightly around the arms and upper chest, but the bottom of the shirt was designed to billow out and sway freely. Coupled with a pair of brand new, navy blue slacks, the autodog thought the entire ensemble modest but beautiful and couldn't wait to show his brother his new purchase.

"Oh, but I better hurry!," he said to himself, jumping in surprise as he glanced at the clock on his nightstand. "I want to pick up a slice of his favourite cake before I go there." Tossing his clothes gently on his berth, First Aid scurried for his bathroom, throwing off his clothes as he went in his rush for the shower.

**xXxXxXxXx**

The walk to his parents' home was a pleasant one. The sun was shining warmly down on First Aid, but a cool breeze kept him from getting over-heated; ruffling his coat and his ears gently. Giggling at the soft touch, the autodog continued his trek, smiling and humming softly, swinging the little cake box in his servos back and forth carefully. He was just rounding the bend when First Aid thought to glance at his watch, smiling brightly as he read the time.

He was going to be earlier than expected, but that would be alright. His family would welcome him warmly all the same, and he knew this would allow him to spend more time with Blades.

"B-brother...," the white mech smiled serenely to himself. He had missed the bull terrier terribly since the last time he had seen him, and he hoped that Blades would stay around longer this time. He didn't like it when his brother disappeared for months at a time, only to come back with some sort of vague excuse and another small scar.

First Aid sighed. "I know he's fighting... I know that's what they make him do these days, but I..." He just wanted Blades to be happy. For him to feel like part of the family again. For him to want to stay and not run off on dangerous missions all the time. "...At least he always comes back to us," the autodog smiled.

Glancing upwards, the australian shepherd was overjoyed to see his parents' house. He couldn't keep down the bubble of excitement that grew within him and he increased his pace, eager to see his brother again.

"W-wait! Blades- mmphf!"

The small mech stopped dead in tracks at the sudden yelp, turning his helm towards the bushes that preceded the pathway leading to the nearby park.

Nervously, First Aid looked around himself, but there was no one else around to be seen and he heard something hit the ground hard on the other side; leaves rustling slightly with the motion. He... he had heard his brother's name, hadn't he? There couldn't possibly be that many 'bots around this area with the same name.

Slowly, he circled around, looking for a part in the foliage.

"M-mmm...," a voice gasped, mewling softly. Even to his confused processor, it sounded familiar, "P-primus, y-you're... you're s-so-" The words were cut off again, something wet sounding following, accompanied by soft groans and low growls.

Just as he thought he should turn back and leave the two well enough alone, First Aid found his part in the bushes; his optics glancing inside and flaring in horror at the sight that befell him. Tangled in each other's arms, frames grinding and mouths pressed firmly together... His brother Blades... and his other brother, Streetwise...

The australian shephered tripped backwards immediately, a servo pressing tight against his mouth, holding back his scream. His spark, swelled and writhed, tearing and ripping apart at this horrible revelation; tears flooding his vision as Streetwise gave another small moan, making the watcher flinch. N-no... this... This couldn't...

Before he even was aware of what was happening, First Aid was dropping his cake; stepping on the little box as he turned and bolted from the scene, trying not to wail in misery as his spark was crushed in his chestplates...

**xXxXxXxXx**

Blades...

Blades and Streetwise...

First Aid wandered slowly down the street, arms hugging himself and optics turned down to the sidewalk. He didn't really know for how long he had been walking, or even where he was at the moment. He just... just felt so lost... Trying to think of something to do, of where to go, was an impossible task. The autodog just couldn't get his processor to think, because... because thinking meant remembering, and remembering hurt, because...

He had loved Blades. Loved him since the first time he saw him. Was saved by him. Maybe it was a childish crush at first, but he had grown up with these feelings in his spark. Blades never scared him, Blades was never a bad mech in his mind... Blades was good. Blades was kind.

Blades was his knight.

He loved him...

First Aid stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, finally lifting his helm and looking around him. All the stores had closed now; the city bathed in red and orange... Looking over his shoulder plating, he saw that the sun was really setting. The orn was coming to a close at last.

His poor, bleeding spark pulsed weakly at the sight of the sun dipping below the buildings, as if crying out in remorse...

W-why? Why did S-streetwise g-get... He was never going to say anything! Never! He could never be certain that Blades would ever return his feelings, and he did not wish to strain their already peculiar family situation by confessing any feelings for his brother. So why then did his oldest sibling, Streetwise, get Blades?

Why did he get to kiss him? To hold him and be held back? Why did he get to love him as he wished, and First Aid couldn't?!

"Well, well, well... What's wrong, sweetspark? Broken spark?" The australian shepherd turned slowly to the greasy voice, staring sadly up at the kittycon leaning against the wall next to him. His visor flared brightly at the autodog's attention; his lip components twisting upwards in a smirk.

"...leave me alone...," First Aid mumbled quickly, walking past the mech.

He tried not to cringe as he heard the other fall into step behind him. "See, I might do just as you ask... if it didn't sound to me like that's the very absolute opposite of what you wanted," the stranger chuckled. "Come on... Tell me what's on your mind. Maybe I can help?"

The white mech tried to increase his pace. "N-no, you can't! You can't do anything at all! Now leave me alone!"

The kittycon swooped right into his path, shoving the autodog up against the adjacent building; leaning dangerously into his face. Optics flared, First Aid tried not to whimper, suddenly very aware of how tiny he was in comparison to this other mech. "I think...," the lynx started slowly, his words weaving a dark and hypnotic spell, "That maybe I can. You're in pain... So much of it." A finger stroked across his cheekplate, catching one of his tears. "You only wanted to love and be loved in return, but... but someone cheated you out of that chance, didn't they? The one you love so sweetly, they chose another... Someone else you never had expected. Someone you just can't let have beat you."

Y-yes... If it, if it had been anyone other than Streetwise, First Aid would not have minded as much. He would have let Blades go, he was sure of it! But to know, that out of his two brothers... Blades had chosen Streetwise...

The lynx grinned victoriously, gently stroking the australian shepherd's cheekplates and ears. "Am I right? Is that the misfortune that befell your tender spark?," he cooed in cruel inquiry. "It's alright... You can tell me..."

First Aid choked at the sympathy in the other's words, even if he knew it was false. He just could not stand it any longer though. All he had wanted was to love Blades, and maybe, one orn, hopefully, to have his love in return. Now, he had no chance. Now, he was just pathetic. "H-he...," the autodog sobbed, dropping his helm to the floor. "I-i don't want to r-remember. I d-don't want t-to think about him a-anymore! I w-want to forget!"

The stranger was silent for a moment, before he leaned in further, purring as he bowed and craned his neck to stare into First Aid's miserable optics. "Now that... I think I can do," he grinned viciously, before his mouth slammed onto the autodog's; glossa slithering quickly into his gaping mouth.

First Aid squeaked and writhed, terrified. He tried to shove the other mech away, but he couldn't find the strength. His spark, it was still too weak, and his frame trembled at the sudden pleasure that spiked across his sensory grid as the kittycon slid a servo under his coat and up his shirt. Overwhelmed by it all, the australian shepherd actually stopped fighting, his weary thoughts thinking for a moment.

This mech... he was almost the same exact size and frame type as his brother. His visor held the same insane light as Blades's optics, though it was crueler and more vicious, compared to the bull terrier's gaze whose was more so broken and traumatized. His laughter was just as chilling, setting fur on end... He was so much like his brother and not, all at the same time. But for his aching spark... he was perfect...

Grabbing the stranger's sleeves, First Aid pushed back up into the other's mouth, trying to shove back his disgust and pain as he returned the lynx's kiss; breaking away an astrosecond after, panting and looking up at the mech pleadingly. "P-please... m-make me forget," he stuttered, a soft whine in his tone.

The grey mech leered, pulling the autodog close again. "Of course," he replied.

He only had a moment to realize what was happening before he was being shoved into the nearest alleyway, the kittycon slinking in after him. The red visor glowed brightly against the shadows as First Aid stumbled backwards, unnerved by the filth and unknown sounds surrounding him. "W-wait, maybe-"

The stranger cackled, stepping further and further into the alley, making the autodog back up until the exit was completely blocked by the other's looming frame. "You're not changing your mind now, are you?," he sneered. "Now, now..."

First Aid yelped as the stranger pounced, knocking him to the ground. He fell in something slimy, and it splashed all over his plating, coating thickly on his coat and ears. Whimpering, the australian shepherd attempted to shove the other mech back and scramble away, but he was unable to. The lynx laughed mockingly at his attempts, shoving him back down against the ground, yanking his coat up and over his helm.

"Remember," he hissed, throwing the autodog's jacket aside, "You agreed to this. You can't back out now."

The vet twisted his helm to the side as the lynx leaned into his face, his glossa sliding across his cheekplate. The stranger was right, First Aid realized with horror. He had consented to this. This was all started by him... and he knew that the kittycon's type was not the kind to let go of its prey so easily. Whimpering in resignation, he did not even protest as the stranger tugged his pants down next, flipping him over and nudging his legs apart.

"Lil' pup, lil' pup," the lynx purred, breathing down his backstruts, "Let me in..." Sharp fingers dug into the seams of his codpiece, frightening First Aid. Not wanting to be hurt, he quickly snapped the plating back, shivering as a sob bubbled up in his chestplates; almost escaping him as he could feel the stranger shift behind him, studying his bare interface array. Something hard and long, but still thin, pressed against his aft, slowly trailing down to his valve, circling teasingly around the edges.

"Well, well, well," the other said, cruel joy rich in his words, "A seal? A pathetically, weak one... but a seal, nonetheless. How old are you, hmm? Certainly not a youngling... and yet you're still sealed? Heh, I pity the idiot that cast you aside. You're sure to be a nice treat."

First Aid shivered, tears pooling in his optics as he trembled hard, yipping shortly as a finger slammed against his seal; breaking it and plunging straight into his virgin valve. He tried not to scream, attempted to hold still, his processor running through several standard text-book ways the valve could tear or rip. He didn't want to be hurt... he didn't want to be in pain anymore...

The lynx ground slowly against his backside, pants still up for the time being, but the australian shepherd didn't expect it to stay like that for long. He hoped that the rough fingers curling and pushing impersonally into his valve could prepare him enough for what would come shortly after. Hot breath cycled over his ears, making them twitch and allowed him no mental escape from this nightmare.

"Mmmm... so nice... so lovely," the kittycon mumbled, the sound of a zipper echoing loudly in the darkness. First Aid's optics flared, his whole frame tensing as the lynx ripped his fingers out of his valve, hissing as the claws caught along the tender edges. "You're going to enjoy this, I think. Even if not..." The other laughed cruelly. "I will."

Something larger and harder pressed against his valve now, and First Aid tried not to sob as he felt the the lynx grab his hips, pushing forward inch by inch. "W-wait, p-please, I d-don't r-really think-," he choked. His protests turned into a strangled scream as the kittycon slammed in the rest of the way, no longer caring for the smaller mech under him or the state he could leave his frame in afterwards.

Pressed to the ground, cheekplate scraping slightly against the pavement, he couldn't see how all of this could get any worse...

Voices began to echo within his helm, taunting him.

_Oh, look at him! First Aid is so cute- getting Blades tea and cookies in his little apron._

_He really does love his big brother._

The australian shepherd gasped, fingers digging against the ground as the stranger grabbed his shoulder plating, pulling him back hard as he thrust upwards; pain shooting up into his helm as his valve stretched uncomfortably. It seeped a bit more lubricant, trying to remain slick enough to avoid tearing... First Aid only hoped that it worked.

_...You love me, huh, Aid?_

His partner didn't seem to care either way though, and he broke out into a vicious pace quickly, pushing the autodog against the pavement more as he lifted his aft up higher for his spike. Tears quickly pooled in First Aid's optics and he let them, too preoccupied on holding back his sobs and whimpers as his frame and spark shared different degrees of agony.

_Y-yes! I love you lots big brother! You're my knight in shining armour!_

"You're very tight, you know?," the lynx purred cruelly, leaning forward to mutter into the autodog's ear. First Aid tried not to flinch, but he did choke as the larger mech grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from his face and pinning them against the pavement. "Oooh... Primus," he groaned, snapping his hips forward, "Gotta love that about virgins... You've a-all got that, mmmm, nice, t-tight valve first time 'round. T-too bad it's only a one time use."

The australian shepherd sobbed.

_Knights in shining armour are usually good, you know. I wouldn't be calling me a hero if I were you._

The kittycon nipped sharply at his ears now, his thrusts long and powerful, obviously seeking to make more sound fall from his trembling lip components. First Aid didn't want to. He didn't want to make the other mech even more aroused than he already was, finding himself enjoying this even less and less and tormented all the same. He had made a mistake. He shouldn't be doing this, he should-

"A-ahhh!," he yelped, sobbing and choking as the fangs dug deep into his neck cables suddenly. He could feel the stranger smirk against his tender plating, mouthing and lapping at the wound richly now, rocking faster into the autodog as he started to groan and gasp, having lost control over his vocalizer.

Of course, he thought faintly, he liked hearing others in pain...

_But you are! You came and saved us all when we were stuck in that horrible place. Like a knight, you swooped in with your sword drawn and rescued us from the bad mechs. You are a brave and strong mech, big brother. And my hero!_

So overcome with pain was he, his thoughts preoccupied with his misery, he didn't notice that a charge, astoundingly, had been building all the same within him, until First Aid's gasps and whimpers of pain suddenly turned into choking, short pants of need. Need for fulfillment, need for release. He could hear the other mech chuckle above him and it sent his spark withering, even as the autodog arched and slammed back into the stranger jerkily; his valve giving a spasm before it rippled and clenched tightly around the spike ramming inside.

The kittycon's amusement turned into a lustful snarl as he was suddenly clutched hard, ripping out and slamming back in, the valve making wet, sucking squelches as their two units met again in the final, short, hard thrusts. Gasping, First Aid whimpered deliriously, lubricants seeping out of his valve as he overloaded. The lynx kept going, snarling and hissing under his intakes; one servo slapping against First Aid's mouth as he yanked the autodog back against him roughly, purring as he overloaded.

_A warm chuckle... A hero, huh? Well, when you put it that way, Aid, I guess I kinda am. I'm glad to be your hero._

The australian shepherd trembled, hot, vicious tears filling his optics again as the lynx dropped him, leaving him to lie there; pulling out slowly, purposefully rubbing up against the spent autodog one last time, before rising to his pedes completely. "Thanks for the frag, cutie," he chuckled darkly. "I had a sweet time."

First Aid did not reply, pushing himself up weakly and sitting, hunched over, until the other mech had left entirely. It seemed to take him kliks to be strong enough to get up on his pedes, and only to realize that the stranger hadn't bothered to watch his actions during the 'face. The entire back seat of his pants was splattered with a combination of lubricants and transfluid. Trying not to sob in shame, First Aid quickly pulled his pants back up, shivering in disgust as he felt the wet material cling to his aft.

He grabbed his coat and tied it around his waist, using it as a means to cover himself, without being too obvious. It was much, much colder without it on, but to walk around with that distinctive mark on him... it would be too much for him to bear, overall.

Slowly, the autodog turned towards home.

**xXxXxXxXx**

A red light was flashing when he entered his dark apartment.

Not even bothering to flip on the light switch, First Aid locked the door behind him, crossing the room and standing weakly before his phone. He stood there silently for several kliks, before a lone finger rose, pressing the playback button on the machine. It whirred and beeped to life, a mechanical voice informing him that he had seven new messages.

"First new message..."

"Hi, First Aid," Groove's rich voice flowed through the speaker, echoing loudly in the quiet apartment, "It's your mom. I was just calling to remind you that your brother Blades is coming for dinner tonight and so the whole family is getting together. I know you work, but once you're done your shift sweetie you should come over. We look forward to seeing our lil' baby soon."

The machine clicked as it started on the next message.

"First Aid, it's your mom again. It's a few kliks after five... I haven't yet gotten a call from you and I just wanted to check in with you. You're still coming tonight, aren't you? Give me a call if you're running late, please."

"Honey... it's me again. You still haven't called and it's now been an hour. I-is everything alright? Your brother Blades has come a long way to see us all; you shouldn't keep him waiting! Please call me."

"Aid, it's getting really late now and you still haven't gotten back to me yet. Dinner's on the table and I'm r-really worried. Are you okay? What's wrong? Did something come up? Please, please if you could just give me a call and put my worried processor to rest, I'd be much obliged."

"F-first Aid, a-are you home?! Your dad and I are r-really, really worried now. T-this isn't like you First Aid! P-please, please call us if you're okay! W-we just want to know that you're alright! Your b-brothers are starting to get anxious now too, and Blades-"

His finger pressed on the button again, cutting off the rest of the message. In the dark, the screen lit up, asking him if he wanted to delete all the messages. The autodog pressed confirm, stepping away from the machine as it beeped again, the mechanical voice informing him politely that he had no messages. The light in the bathroom stung his optics as he turned it on, but First Aid ignored it, stepping further into the room and shutting the door behind him.

He turned then to the mirror, almost surprised by the mech staring back at him. White and red plating was scuffed and flecked with dirt, ears matted against his helm. His optics were dim and unfocused, ringed by tears that had fallen down his face and dried on the journey home. His frame was trembling still, minutely, and his servos hung loosely by his sides, as if he did not have the will to lift them anymore. And his clothes... The nice outfit he had bought and worn specifically for today was yanked and stained, dirty and a little frayed about the hems now.

Ruined...

It was all ruined.

Quickly, the autodog turned away from the mirror, ripping the clothes off of his frame -unable to stand having them hang from his filthy body anymore, but unable to see himself bare for the mirror mech to judge. As he tore the blouse and pants off, a knot grew tighter and tighter in his throat, until First Aid was gasping and choking around it; coolant rising to his optics and flooding his vision.

He barely had the time to turn on the shower, scalding water spraying down in the tub's basin, before he broke down completely; crumbling, falling into the tub, curling into himself as he wept. Ashamed, disgusted, angry, hurt and more spark-broken then he had ever been in his life previously...

**C.M.D: Dear readers, it has come to my attention that some people don't understand what constitutes as rape. I labeled the scene between Vortex and First Aid has being implied rape, but the fact of the matter is that it _IS_ rape. Yes, you can consent to sex. Also, you can take BACK your consent and decide to stop. If someone doesn't respect that and forces you to continue to have sex, that is RAPE. It is against your will and, due to the muddled definition of consent our culture currently adheres to, can often be overlooked or ignored. Always remember that you have a choice, at any given time to stop or continue, and no one can tell you otherwise.**


	3. Blades and First Aid II

**Title: Blades and First Aid II**   
**Rating: K**   
**Summary: When they were younger**

First Aid had never spoken...

It had been almost two stellar cycles since the war had ended for them. After the camp had been attacked and they had been freed -by the sparkling they thought to be dead, of all things- Hot Spot had taken his family far away from all the madness of the final orns of the war, pleading for sanctuary and help. The ones that had first brought Blades to them gave it gladly; setting up a humble home for the broken family to escape to, in the safe and normal Iacon.

Groove had hoped things might turn out okay. Even despite Blades being thirsty to dive back into the thick of it all, Hot Spot wanting to come out of retiring and... well...

He focused on their youngest, not knowing what else to do. So young, and raised only in the nightmare that had been their lives for the past, few stellar cycles... Groove hoped, that given his age, First Aid could shed off the horrors they had experienced and would laugh and play like other sparklings his age. But how could he even expect that to happen when the little australian shepherd would not even speak...?

That's what concerned him the most.

The komodor saw as the orns rolled by... and then the weeks... and months... and slowly, some life came back to First Aid's optics. He could even smile again, and the sight of that the first time broke the burdened carrier down into tears. Groove couldn't help it. In that one, fresh smile was all the innocence and love that the world had to offer...

But still no words.

He'd tried. Primus, had he tried. He thought perhaps First Aid had never picked up on the language. He attempted to teach him. He even tried practising out the vowel sounds with his sparkling... Nothing worked. He realized shortly after, that it wasn't a matter of knowing the words -Groove had discovered just how smart the tiny autodog was when he found him reading the newspaper and following along with the stories- no, the cause lay in a psychological issue. Too afraid to take First Aid to a vet and lost at what else to do, Groove had no choice but to accept that his son may never speak at all.

"Don't give up, love," Hot Spot had soothed. The affenspincher was hardly ever home. His new work kept him away long cycles; he even slept at the office most nights. This visit would be the first that Groove had seen his bondmate in a long time, and even more importantly, Blades as well. His wayward son had been in the city and Hot Spot had dragged him back home to see the family.

The komodor pressed into his husband's touch, sighing wearily. "I... I know... but..."

"You... y-you must give it time," the other mech patiently insisted. "W-what happened to us... it... it's not something easily forgotten or healed. If we just... We need to give him more time. First Aid's bright. We've seen that. That can only mean that he'll be talking like the rest of us soon. If we try to force it, we may end up doing more damage than good..."

"I-i know that!," Groove snapped, tears filling his optics, "B-but, but I can't deal with this! We-we're barely holding it together as it is, a-and if-"

The two older mechs had not been paying attention to what was going on around them. They never noticed as little First Aid tip-toed into the room, walking up to the bored Blades who was sitting on the couch's arm, playing with a dagger. Blades, of course, did notice as something gently tugged at his pants' leg. Glancing downwards, the unstable youngling was surprised to see his baby brother staring back at him; no fear, no anger, no... nothing in those optics, but quiet serenity and innocence.

"...yeah?," he asked, uncertainly.

His question interrupted his parents, who turned, staring in a mixture of shock and fear at the little sparkling standing calmly at the killer's pedes. Groove made to step forward, but Hot Spot touched his shoulder plating, stopping him. The komodor opened his mouth next to say something in protest, yet stopped even in that as First Aid slowly smiled up at his brother.

Then, he did something even more amazing...

He reached forward, wrapping his tiny arms around the bull terrier's leg and... "Blades."

He spoke. The australian shepherd, honest-to-primus, spoke!

The entire room was stunned into silence; none of them knowing what to do. But First Aid seemed to know exactly what to do for all of them. He snuggled closer to Blades, smiling and awkwardly opening his mouth, as if attempting to say more, but instead only blushing again; grinning brighter and warmer, repeating Blades' name periodically.

"I... uh... guess he's speaking now...," the youngling interjected nervously, trying not to squirm. He was unnerved by his baby brother's affection, but... he didn't want to be cruel and rip away from it either. No matter how badly it made him uncomfortable.

Groove smiled, tears of joy now filling his optics. "G-go on," he encouraged, trying not to sob, "P-pick him up! Give your little brother a hug back." Hot Spot nodded his agreement alongside his bondmate.

Trying not to scowl, Blades reached down and as gently as he could, lifted First Aid up. The sparkling shuttered his optics in surprise at first, before he smiled widely, almost bouncing as he was set down again in Blades' lap. "Blades!," he chirped.

"Yeah...," the older autodog mumbled back, cheekplates tinging slightly with a blush. "I'm...uh... Blades." He softly poked First Aid in the chestplates. "And you're First Aid."

The little mech beamed, turning and pointing at Groove and Hot Spot each. He said 'mommy' and 'daddy' as he gestured at each, bringing gasps of delight from both of his parents, before he turned his beautiful, unjudging optics to his big brother again. Blades shuttered his optics as a little servo pressed against the sparkling's chestplates, that warm smile having yet to leave his face.

"Blades," First Aid said. He reached out and pressed his servo next on Blades' chestplates, right above his spark, "First Aid."

Before he could even question it, the bull terrier found little arms wrapped as far as they would reach around his chestplates; his baby brother snuggling closer with a little sigh. Blades didn't even have a chance to say anything before First Aid drifted off to recharge entirely. Smiling, Groove came up, resting a servo on the bull terrier's shoulder plating and stroking the smaller mech's ears. "Please say you'll stay?," the komodor asked his son. "Just for a little while... I think it might do First Aid good to have you here."

Glancing up quickly first at his mom, and then his dad, Blades vented softly, turning his gaze finally down to First Aid, recharging peacefully against his chestplates. "...Alright," he agreed with a huff. "It's not like I have anywhere else to be for the moment anyways."

His parents said nothing, only smiling; for once, looking as happy as they all used to be before the war.


	4. Blades and First Aid III

**Title: Blades and First Aid III**   
**Rating: M**

He had to move... had to keep going... had to...

First Aid flinched as he turned the corner too fast, his valve lining tearing a little, causing him a stinging pain. He had thought he'd been alright last night -thought at the least that he was going to be able to get over his run-in with that stranger- but he had severely underestimated how much damage his valve had really taken with the rough, impromptu interface. He should have just stayed home, he should have-

No. The autodog shook his helm. He couldn't stay home because that meant calling into work and admitting that there was a problem in his life. It meant listening to the phone ring and ring and ring, as his carrier called him in a panic, leaving hysterical messages to fill his invoice. It meant sitting around in the dark, shivering, acutely aware that if he really wanted to, Blades could come slamming through his front door or crawling through his window any klik and-

First Aid quickly swallowed back his whimper, escaping into the nearest room. He was lucky- it was an empty patient's quarters. Realizing he was really alone, he could not stop the tears that rose quickly; whirling around and closing the door in a hurry, before retreating into the farthest corner of the room and collapsing.

"B-blades...," he sobbed uncontrollably, thick, hot tears spilling down his cheekplates.

Even now, when his brother was the very cause of his pain, he was crying out for him. He wanted -needed- to be saved again. To have all his fears slashed away, the strange kittycons removed and his faith to be restored. He wanted things to be how they were before yesterorn...

Through his tortured whimpers, the australian shepherd almost didn't hear as the door was opened, but it was harder to miss the slight creak in the hinges, and the old voice that said, "Hello... do I hear a young one cr- F-first Aid?"

The assistant snapped his helm up in horror, looking through his watery vision at his superior. "R-ratchet, s-sir, I-i-i-" First Aid quickly wiped at his optics, turning his gaze away from the older autodog, scrambling to get up onto his pedes. Glancing behind him to make sure no one noticed him, Ratchet stepped into the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

"Stop...," he ordered gently, coming up to the frantic mech. "You're going to scratch your optics that way." He pulled First Aid's servos away from his face, staring down at the other autodog with concerned, dim optics.

"First Aid... what's wrong?," Ratchet softly asked. "When you came into work today, I thought something was off... but you didn't say anything and so I had assumed... I'm sorry. I won't make that mistake again."

"N-no; i-it's nothing!," First Aid protested weakly. He tried to pull away from the labrador, but the older mech held him securely, and truthfully, the smaller autodog just couldn't work up the spark to act so viciously towards Ratchet. Not to the mech who, without asking or obligation, had supported and cared and protected him all these orns...

_'W-why couldn't I h-have fallen for y-you instead?!'_

Ratchet scowled now, his fingers curling in his anxiousness. "It's obviously not nothing, First Aid!," he barked shortly, "You're tucked away in a room, crying as if the whole world was collapsing around your ears! Please..." He softened his tone, regretting the fact that he had lost his patience with his assistant, even for a short while. "Tell me... I only want to help."

_No, I can't tell you..._

_How do I possibly explain everything that's happened?!_

_What could you do to make the fact that I lost my virginity to some rapist better?!_

_I don't want you! I want Blades!_

_Why... Why do I h-have to love him..._

First Aid didn't realize he had started sobbing again, until he felt old fingers gently wipe at his cheekplates, diverting the flow of tears for an astrosecond. "...Maybe I should just send you home for the day. I don't think this is the right place for you to be and-"

"N-no!," he gasped, clutching Ratchet's sleeves in desperation. "P-please, sir!," he begged, "D-don't send me home! I, I couldn't- I c-can't-"

The labrador looked honestly contrite as he grabbed the other autodog's wrists again, freeing himself. "I'm sorry, First Aid," he apologized heavily, "But I can not permit you to stay. You're practically hysterical... It'll do neither you nor your patients any good for you to work in this state. By law, I-"

"Please?!," the australian shepherd pressed, unable to keep it together any longer. He threw himself at Ratchet's frame, hiccuping and choking on his wails as he tried to make his plea heard. "I-i'll c-clean the o-o-office! I-i-i'll t-take ca-care of a-all your pa-paperwork! I-i'll e-even v-vaccum t-the drapes! J-just, just...p-please... d-don't s-send me ho-home... I... I-i c-can't... ca-can't s-stand to b-be a-alone..."

First Aid trembled as he felt a warm servo gently cup the back of his helm; slowly petting down the crest as he was pulled closer into the other's embrace. "Hush, First Aid...," he could hear Ratchet softly whisper near his helm.

Ratchet never spoke so calmly; Ratchet was terrible at sympathy.

Fresh tears pooled in the smaller autodog's optics.

"You're fine now... I'll be here. You don't have to go home."

Unable to resist the much needed comfort, First Aid turned his face into the labrador's shirt, crying harder as he clung to the older mech.

**xxXxXxx**

He spent the entire orn in Ratchet's office. He had tried -really had- to work like he promised, but his spark just wasn't in it. Eventually, he gave up entirely and sat, staring blankly out the window. He wasn't sure what to think any more or what to feel. He just knew he wanted it to stop...

The orn passed fairly quickly and even though his superior had been so supporting all the passing cycles, he had pressed that the australian shepherd go home and get some real rest. "I can't stay here any longer," the labrador had said softly, "Nor can you. It's already past midnight... You need sleep just as much as anyone else. And you'll find none of it staying here."

First Aid hadn't bothered protesting.

What was the point?

He gathered his things and left the hospital, not even being cautious like he used to as he wandered down the empty, dark streets back to his apartment. The autodog moved as if he was in a daze, going up, up, up the stairs of his building and opening his door. He shuttered his optics as he entered the apartment, only for the first time realizing where he was; forgetting that he had even made the journey to begin with.

The small, rational part of him that still spoke with all of its medical wisdom, commented that this was not a good sign.

He ignored it.

Walking forward slowly, First Aid beckoned to the silent call of a little, lonely red light that flashed incessantly on his phone. He stood over it, helm canted to the side, wondering in his thoughtless thoughts what it could possibly mean.

He slowly raised a finger, pressing the play button on the machine.

"First Aid!," a shrill voice cried out from the speaker. He cringed, a small part of him withering in fear. _Mom_.

"H-how... how could you w-worry us like this?! We thought something had happened! We thought you were DEAD! H-how, how c-can you be s-so callous to us! Y-you know y-your father and I-i still s-suffer from n-nightmares! A-are you so insensitive?! A-and your siblings – you h-had S-streetwise and your s-sister I-ignis struck w-with worry! I-ignis is STILL crying! I-it took us calling t-the hospital t-to find out t-that you w-were alright, a-and even then, you never thought to call us back and tell us yourself! Y-you... you... WHO ARE YOU?! Why w-would you do t-this to us First Aid?! W-why a-are you being so cruel? Y-your brother, Blades... h-he's gone now, First Aid. H-he had to leave for another mission. He's hardly around as it is, a-and we never know when we m-might see him last! A-all we c-can try to do is make him f-feel at home a-and loved, a-and then you had to b-be so ho-horrible a-and i-ignore us, a-and now Blades-"

The rest of the message broke in a vicious squeal of static as the australian shepherd lunged forward, ripping the phone off the jack. He screamed, throwing the machine at the wall, servos clawing at his face as it cracked the plaster before falling to the floor. Even then, he couldn't erase the sound of his own carrier -screaming, crying, accusing him- from his helm, and First Aid fell on the damaged phone; shaking fist pounding the machine, harder and harder, plastic snapping and breaking, cutting into his servo but he would not stop until the pain in his spark did.

…..a broken, frail whimper escaped the mech...

It didn't stop.

**xxXxXxx**

Ratchet tidied the last of his things away, pausing as he circled around his desk, his optics falling to the small scratch in the wood. The mark had not been there previously, but after he had come to release First Aid for the orn, the labrador noticed its presence. He had already analysed it, deducing that it was indeed made with a finger... a small one. Slowly, persistently, absent-mindedly...

"Primus, First Aid... What is going on?," he mumbled to himself. The older mech vented softly, walking towards the filing cabinets, dumping his files inside the locked drawers. He heard something hiss behind him and quickly the autodog whirled around, optics narrowed suspiciously. He saw no one, and even filled with shadows, Ratchet doubted that anyone could hide in the thin corners.

"Hello?," he gruffed, all the same. Better to play the side of caution than run into a... situation.

No answer greeted him. Keeping on-guard, Ratchet slowly paced around his office, optics snapping to the piece of paper that wafted across the bottom of the floor; attempting to blow itself under his desk. Fists clenched, the vet quickly ducked, scooping it up and standing upright once more. No words could describe the relief he felt as nothing tried to attack him from the hollow space beneath his desk, but it was a feeling that quickly faded as he smoothed out the crumpled paper, staring at the message scrawled out quickly.

_'Mr. Helper,_

_I remember you. Your scent, your colours._

_I doubt you remember me._

_Good. We can play surprise later, should you ever be unwise and hurt First Aid. Remember that only the memory of you is what keeps you alive, as it is._

_Don't make me regret that I let you live, merely because he chose you.'_

"Remember...," Ratchet mumbled to himself, brow furrowing in confusion and trepidation. Someone had snuck this into his office as he was working; someone was deliberately threatening him. And it all tied into First Aid... how?

"This situation is bigger than first thought..." The labrador folded the note, slipping into his coat pocket. He glanced at his clock. It was too late to bother First Aid now, even despite his incessant worries.

He'd just have to wait until morning to call the other autodog.

Shoulders tense, Ratchet quickly finished putting away the last of his things for the night, before grabbing his keys and leaving his office.

**xxXxXxx**

"First Aid, I was trying to-" Ratchet paused as he looked away from his datapad, trying to hide the grimace spreading across his lip components, but failing. "First Aid... you look horrible..."

The australian shepherd knew. He had woken up on the floor -probably passed out from crying the night before- his pager beeping incessantly, and his bloody servo numb and scabbing. He had wrapped it quickly, holding it now in his coat pocket, ignoring the stabbing ache that pulsed up his arm intermittently.

Ratchet rose from his chair, circling around the desk slowly, approaching the younger mech as if he was a small animal and he feared any sudden movements would frighten the other away. "What... happened last night?," the vet asked warily. "I tried to call you this morning, but the phone said-"

"I know," First Aid interrupted quietly. He shuttered his optics up at the labrador as he gaped in shock. "I'm sorry; there seems to be a problem with my phone. I'm having it fixed."

Ratchet frowned, suspiciously. "I... see..."

"...you paged me?," his assistant continued after a moment, still staring up at the other autodog blankly. Ratchet tried not to squirm too much under the flat, lifeless optics; haunted by the sight of them. He'd seen more than a few cases of optics like that when he'd been working the late-night, emergency ward...

Folding his arms over his chestplates uneasily, the labrador sat on the edge of his desk, his intense gaze scrutinizing the smaller mech. "Yes... About yesterday- I thought about it, and I think we need to talk. You don't have to tell me any details, or names, but I'm concerned First Aid. Even... even if you just want to tell me things I could do to help you, that'll be enough. I can see that something happened and I really want to help you through this rough patch, kid," he sighed, "You've got so much potential, and a really kind spark, I don't-"

The rest of his words tumbled out of his mouth silently as First Aid physically turned away from him, glancing at the clock. Momentary rage flared through the older mech, before it died and his fuel tanks roiled uneasily. First Aid had never been disrespectful like this. "First Aid, listen, I-"

"...sir," the australian shepherd cut in again. He glanced quickly at the other autodog. "You said beforehand that there was some vacation time I was able to take, if I so wished it."

Slowly, Ratchet nodded.

"I want to take it now."

Flat, blue optics turned to him, waiting expectantly. Ratchet could not help it that he scowled at their sight. Forcing himself to take a weary intake, the older mech slumped his shoulders, letting his servos drop down by his sides. "If that's what you really want, First Aid," he replied wearily, "Then I'll go write up the forms giving you a month's vacation." He stood for a moment, expecting maybe some sort of response from his assistant... but First Aid never replied.

Sighing, Ratchet pushed away from his desk. "I'll just be a few kliks," he informed as he passed the australian shepherd, patting his shoulder to offer comfort to the smaller mech and himself. First Aid did not even turn around as the labrador left the room. Slowly, after a couple kliks, he glanced at the closed door, before walking quickly to the computer.

His fingers ran fluidly and methodically over the keys as he logged in under Ratchet's account; delving head-first into the hospital's medical files. His optics lit -only for an astrosecond- as he found what he had been looking for; saving and copying the file to a USB he had slipped away in his pocket. He had just disconnected and was walking back to the spot he had vacated when the door opened again.

Ratchet paused, surprised to see that the white mech had actually moved, but did not take much meaning in it. "You're free to go," he said, handing First Aid a thin folder. "But please, if you feel you want to come in, even just to visit or the like, do. I'd also like to hear from you from time to time, if that's okay. Just... just to make sure you're doing alright."

First Aid shuttered his optics slowly up at his superior. "...Of course, sir," he replied. He politely stepped pass the other mech and walked for the door. "Good day, sir."

The vet turned to watch the smaller autodog go, fists clenching at his sides in unease and worry. "Yeah... bye..."

**xxXxXxx**

He'd turn on the computer, the moment he had returned home.

Lies... It was all lies...

Something had been niggling at the back of his processor, memories that he could barely remember but did not make sense. He remembered the terror of that evil place; the war that had stripped him from his family, made him fearful of kittycons for a time...

All of them... they'd all been in on it...

He remembered death and blank optics staring up at him, devoid of all life and feeling... The same optics that smiled at him now and glittered with warmth.

Lies!

First Aid started to chuckle as he leaned away from the terminal, a servo rising to his mouth as his giggles slowly bled into mad laughter; tears pooling around his optics and spilling as he kept laughing. Good, old medical reports- they could always be trusted. They never were chalked full of lies.

Not like his family...

Oh, they were good. Hiding the fact that Ignis wasn't his sister all these stellar cycles, that Streetwise had died back then in the war, that Blades had relations with their older brother since before then... creating the small femme that he would be taught to recognize and see as 'sister'...

"W-why...," he chuckled, expression twisting in pain as he stared at the screen, "W-why di-did they do t-this to me...? W-why? I-i thought... t-thought they c-cared..." The australian shepherd laughed again, jumping to his pedes suddenly and kicking his chair away. His servos curled around his ears as he started pacing back and forth quickly, intakes coming in faster and faster with every loop.

"L-liars... a-all lies... I-i..."

He hadn't... This... This was the last thing he would have expected to find. He had just wanted to confirm his brothers' status, maybe find out the name of the Institution that Blades had the majority of his wounds treated at... First Aid stopped, barking with laughter, before he crumbled to the floor, slamming his injured servo on the floorboards over and over again -hard. Energon started seeping out of the bandaging again, smearing across the floor, but even then he didn't stop.

"Lies..."

Smack.

"Lies..."

Smack.

"L-lies..."

Smack.

"LIARS!," he screamed, punching the ground, hearing his knuckles crunch wetly at the impact. Pain shot through his arm and straight into his helm, right behind his optics, but even that wasn't enough to stop the agony raging through his spark. Sobbing, First Aid collapsed to the floor, curling up into a ball.

He had thought... Primus, he had thought so many things. But this revelation proved how little he actually knew. Whimpering, the autodog felt one servo slid up and start to claw through his shirt, at his spark withering just beneath his chestplates. He knew nothing.

He never knew how little faith his family actually had in him. He never knew that his two brothers had been carrying a relationship since before the war, leaving his feelings stupid and unwanted. He never knew that the femme he treasured and loved as a sister was the by-product of his brothers' affections for each other. He never knew that he meant so little to the family. He never knew that his opinion, his knowledge of their terse family situation, was insignificant to the others.

That he was so unworthy to know the truth...

Worthless...

Rolling over, the trembling australian shepherd buried his choking tears and sobs into his knees, sinking beneath the black waters of his despair.


	5. Blades and First Aid IV

**C.M.D: These chapters start to get darker as the story continues, so there'll always be a reminder every chapter that a censored version is available on FF.net, should you wish to read that instead at any given time.**

**Title: Blades and First Aid IV**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warnings: Incest, self-harm and physical abuse**

He gasped softly as his helm was tipped to the side, a hot glossa sliding up his cheekplate, licking away his stream of tears. "Mmm," the kittycon purred into his ear, "Even your tears taste sweet. How curious."

Doubtful, he wanted to say. But he decided the statement wasn't worth the energy to produce vocally. Best to remain focused on only the servos running up and down his frame, tugging his pants low impatiently as he was cupped closer to the other mech's chassis. First Aid could not help the little flinch he gave as the stranger picked leisurely at his codpiece; the hissing sound of plating retracting, announcing that he had unveiled his own spike.

The kittycon chuckled darkly. "Scared, are we?," he teased, his lip components ghosting a trail down the autodog's neck, nipping harshly at the cables. "Typical, really... But you surprise me, mutt. I never expected you'd come looking for me, begging me to frag you again."

The australian shepherd moaned reluctantly as his upper torso was shoved into the wall; his aft grabbed and lifted up as the other mech finally managed to coax his plating back, sliding his erect spike straight into the vet's valve. Grunting, as the entry had been a little drier than preferred, First Aid rapidly blinked back the rest of his tears, struggling to keep his intakes even. "W-what... what d-do you c-care?," he mumbled in reply. "Y-you're getting some... i-isn't that e-enough?"

The kittycon purred as he pinned First Aid to the wall, his other servo grabbing the autodog's hip as he pulled out slowly and rocked back in. "True," he rumbled, picking up his pace every astrosecond, "But t-then again, I'm n-not the pathetic, snivelling mutt c-chasing shadows down in sketchy clubs and dangerous a-alleyways."

The vet could not even protest such an insult. Valve stretching widely around the pounding spike, slow to lubricate, it was all he could do to keep from crying out in either pain or sorrow. He knew he was pathetic -pitiful really. It's what had driven First Aid here in the first place. Fingers scrambling against the wall, the australian shepherd tried to focus his thoughts only on the brick scraping his captured wrists, the unpleasant assault the kittycon was ravaging on his valve, or even the way his intakes slowly hitched as groans starting to fall faster out of his mouth.

"P...p-please...," the gasping plea escaped him as he arched back into the kittycon, whimpering as his sensors were ground against hard, sending excited jolts of electricity up his spinal struts, "Please, I-i... M-make me f-forget. M-make m-me not r-remember a-anything."

The lynx paused, hilt-deep inside of him, grabbing the autodog's chin and tipping his helm back uncomfortably until the tearful optics were shuttering up into his visor. Unable to move or even pull away, First Aid watched as a vicious grin split apart under that bloody banner; its glow dimming just enough to highlight how amusing the stranger found all of this. "Of course," he husked, leaning down and unceremoniously thrusting his glossa into the smaller mech's mouth, "Mmmm... Let Vortex give you something to ponder about."

There was only an astrosecond to register the words and to shiver in disgust at the glossa slipping around in his mouth like some eel, before the kittycon was pulling back entirely and shoving First Aid's face against the wall as he broke out into a series of hard and quick thrusts. Despite the pain that burned its way across his neural net as his cheekplate scraped against the ragged brick, the autodog was content all the same; feeling all thought and other useless emotion ripped away, as he was twisted and spun into this cruel, beautiful blend of ecstasy and agony.

**xxXxXxx**

He woke up, feeling something nibbling on his servo.

Optics onlining, First Aid stared up at the nude lynx crouching by his berthside; his servo clutched tenderly in the other's grasp, his glossa and denta circling the bleeding wound around his servo. "Good morning," Vortex chuckled darkly, noticing the autodog's attentiveness. "I noticed your little servo bleeding -I thought I'd have myself a taste."

First Aid said nothing to that, tiredly pulling his servo free from Vortex's grasp. He rolled away, resting the freshly opened wound against the sheets, watching blankly as it bubbled and stained the white fabric. The mattress creaked as the lynx climbed up over him, hovering like a black shadow in his berth.

"Come now...," his sick vocalizer cooed, dipping closer, "You don't really want to ignore me. If you did... you would never have invited me in..." The australian shepherd could feel the smirk on the other's face as his mouth pressed against his neck cables, forcing his helm to tip further on the pillow. The stranger spoke truth, he noted through his indifference. This vampire he had willingly invited into his home; opened his doors, opened his legs and begged to be devoured.

Because it was better than thinking... than... remembering...

First Aid turned slightly, spreading his legs for the servo slowly slithering between his thighs and gasping as the lynx slid his fingers into his valve without a second thought. "So willing," Vortex chuckled softly against his ear. The grey mech growled momentarily as he grabbed the autodog's leg, bending it towards First Aid's chestplates, his pressurized spike already pressing against the lip of his valve.

First Aid shuttered his optics, waiting for the strike.

He onlined them quickly, flinching as Vortex grabbed his bleeding servo; one claw digging into the fresh wound hard, making it trickle fresh energon. This constant, and often harsh treatment, to it only continued to halt its healing. If it ever did... it would surely scar now.

"You're such a little whore," the kittycon growled above his helm as he finally thrust in, grinning wickedly at the strangling gasp the australian shepherd gave. Humming contently, Vortex broke out into a hard pace, pushing First Aid down into the sheets; his red visor fixed down on the frantically moaning and panting vet.

"S-so pathetic... so pitiful... so d-desperate..." His mouth twisted wider with his vicious amusement. "...so self-destructive...You've been more of a treat than I had first anticipated. Thank you sweetly, lil' Aid."

He had no protest to offer. Squinting through his glazed optics up at the looming kittycon, the white mech was only relieved that the grim glow of the other's visor offered him no route of illusion, no hope of pretending. This was here, this was now; this was painful, this was liberating. Gasping, First Aid arched up into Vortex's plundering, his free servo catching the other's arm and digging his fingers in tightly as he smiled deliriously, feeling all conscious thought and sensation fade away. Leaving only the bitter-sweet remains that this mech alone was pouring upon him.

**xxXxXxx**

Ignis slowly shifted her grip, clinging to the window frame tightly as her other servo picked and worked the wire carefully; easing it around the inside latch and finally snapping it back. With a sigh of relief, the femme yanked the wire out, grabbing the window and opening it wide. She was aware that anyone watching could call the police, no doubt thinking her a burglar or something, but right now she was less concerned about that. It had been a couple weeks since First Aid had stopped talking to the family.

No one could understand why, or even why he had chosen to distance himself from them on the only orn that Blades had come to visit them that month. Though he'd never say it, Ignis could tell that her uncle not showing up that night had really hit Blades hard. He had left dinner early, probably to go check on First Aid's apartment, but considering how quickly Blades returned -even more tense than before- the femme could only assume that her sire had not found the australian shepherd at home. Everybody was upset and worried... And then Groove had called the hospital the next morning, and found that First Aid was okay...

Blades' departure that orn had been less than pleasant.

Ignis slowly stepped down into the apartment, not hearing a sound that said anyone was home. Cautious, she took a step further inside, double-checking that her dagger was in easy reach should she need it.

She could understand everybody being hurt and even angry at First Aid for his behaviour, but Ignis couldn't believe that the vet would do something like this without good reason. She'd had to wait until later, but she had tried to call the mech, just to tell him that she was sorry that he missed Blades' visit and that she really missed him, and if he could come over and have some cake with her. Just like they used to when they were small. The flat, mocking beep had denied her.

No phone... and now, not even attending work, as she had discovered the other orn...

A feeling of dread, first just confused uncertainty, had started to spread its poisonous roots and it strangled Ignis now; its seed a heavy weight unsettling her fuel tanks. Blades had taught her to always trust her instincts, and right now, they were screaming out that something was wrong.

Silently, the femme tip-toed through the modest apartment, optics taking in everything. The few, dirty dishes in the sink, the empty hallway table where the phone usually sat, its ripped wire still in the jack... Dark and empty, even despite the sunlight shining brightly outside, the apartment did not even feel like her uncle's any more. It felt like a stranger's home...

Swallowing uneasily, Ignis approached the berthroom; gently grasping the knob and pushing it open. Her olfactory sensors twinged in displeasure as the scent of old transfluids smacked her straight in the face; opening the door further, she could see that the berth was, thankfully, empty. But the state it was left in did not make her feel any more comfortable. Twisted and ripped in spots, the sheets were practically slipping off the berth, leaving the plain and sullen mattress open to her view. Holding a servo to her face, Ignis walked inside further, optics flaring as he worry increased; her fuel tanks roiling sickly.

There was energon...

Dried in spots on the floor. Staining the sheets in places. Mixed in with the copious amount of transfluid drying into the fabric. At the violent display before her, Ignis started to back up, feeling both dizzy and suddenly weak in the knee joints.

First Aid...

Despite how sweet and loving he was, had never dated. He'd always been single, and happy as such, Ignis remembered. He had wanted to be a vet and to him that was more important than highschool romances. No one questioned it. They were merely happy to see that innocent mech smile and be filled with such life, no matter what he found joy in. As such, the femme also knew that her uncle was sealed. That had not changed any time soon, and if it had, in some effect, she knew that First Aid would have said as such to his family. He never kept secrets from them.

"F...first Aid...," Ignis mumbled, gagging as the stench hit her hard again. Her hip smacked into the desk against the wall, making the computer screen flash to life. Caught off-guard by its response, the femme whirled around, facing the terminal; all thoughts of rape and First Aid chased from her processor for a moment.

That moment stretched longer as she realized what was staring up at her from the computer monitor.

"...o-oh... oh no...," she whimpered softly, feeling tears fill her optics. Medical files. First Aid had been looking at their medical files... Hers, to be exact. The box stating her sire and carrier glowed up at her mockingly; for once, the sight of those two names causing a stabbing pain to pierce through her spark.

First Aid...

He knew. He knew he had been lied to.

A sound from down the hall outside the apartment jolted Ignis out of her horrified daze. Like a bullet, she dashed from the room, leaping up and out of the living room window and for the tree she had used to get close, without a second thought. Spark whirling wildly -in pain, fear and sorrow- the femme quickly scaled down the bark; sprinting down the street and towards home.

**xxXxXxx**

The berth creaked as he rose, sniffling slightly and turning in his spot, resting his pedes on the floor. The wood was chill against the plating, but he remained seated -hunched over, one servo rubbing tiredly at his optics- still not willing to move just yet. Once again, he wondered why he was here... why he kept doing this...

"...You're over-thinking again..."

The mech turned his helm slightly towards the sleepy mumble, watching as the Akita stretched slowly across the berth; the sheets pulling taut across his lithe frame. Blue optics onlined, glowing up at him warmly, and for a moment, the younger autodog believed that it was really his brother Streetwise looking up at him... The one he loved...

But the moment passed quickly and there were only blue optics staring back up at him from a shell that mimicked his long departed brother.

"Blades...," Streetwise sighed, knowing exactly where the silent mech's thoughts had gone. He sat up, attempting to reach over and touch the bull terrier's shoulder plating. Immediately, Blades flinched away from the contact; rising to his pedes and crossing the room for his pants.

"I gotta go...," he mumbled. "I've got-"

"Blades," the white mech repeated, pulling the sheets up and covering himself modestly, "You don't need to make excuses. I know you can't stay."

Blades slowed down, but did not stop entirely. "...I shouldn't even be here," he added softly, not looking back at his brother. "This was a mistake. I..."

Smiling kindly, Streetwise rose out of the berth as well, walking unabashedly towards the bathroom. Despite his reluctance, the bull terrier's optics followed his form, subconsciously tracing the curves of the other's frame. "It's alright, Blades," the akita continued, stopping at the bathroom sink; his aft and its incriminating stains in plain view of the younger autodog. "What we're doing... You and I are both under agreement; this is only a release. What we once had... it's over now..."

Even if he agreed, hearing those words -coming out of Streetwise's mouth, spoken with his vocalizer, so kindly and callously- stung and Blades did his best not to lash out of pain. "T-that's not-"

Streetwise turned his helm, staring at his brother quietly. "...but it is," he spoke after a moment. His gaze softened and his smile pulled on his lip components, serene but still tinged with a touch of sadness. "You no longer see me as your same brother any more, Blades, and I have accepted that. What happened during the war has changed us all... but, despite everything, I know I will forever cherish the memories of us, young and in love. And I know that you'll do the same too."

The guilt was eating him alive the longer he looked into those fathomless optics. He hated it... hated that smile and that kindness and just how right this Streetwise was... because it only proved just how much Blades had failed and how much it had all cost them in the end. It was only through a twisted miracle of wonder that Streetwise was even with them once again, but a living frame and glowing spark did not mean that his brother was truly resurrected. The akita he had loved had died in his arms... with the word 'monster' on his lip components as he cursed Blades to his grave...

Tearing his helm away finally, Blades yanked his pants on, fuel tanks churning with disgust. "I... just stop talking...," he grumbled, searching the room for his shirt. "I shouldn't even be here. Yoketron will slag me for ditching when I get back. You better not tell the others that I was-"

"I won't." Streetwise was leaning against the bathroom door frame now, arms crossed loosely over his chestplates as he looked at his brother. "I never do," he added.

Blades didn't respond to that, increasing his efforts toward his search; feeling his emotions tug in several thousand directions at the quiet hurt present in the other's tone. The crushing need to escape pressed down on him harder, and he knew he only had himself to blame for feeling torn this way. With a bitter-sweet victory, he managed to pull his shirt out from under the berth, untangling it from Streetwise's trousers and throwing it over his helm. Both were silent as Blades gathered together the rest of his things; grabbing his duffel bag and heading for the motel door.

"Blades...," Streetwise called softly. The bull terrier paused just before the door. "Please... talk to him."

Ears raised in stunned disbelief, Blades half-looking over his shoulder plating warily. Streetwise smiled in kind understanding. "I do not who it might be that has won your spark after so long... but he deserves enough respect, I think, to know how you feel about him. Besides," the elder autodog said, "He may just feel the same back... You deserve to be happy..."

Coolant glazed his optics faster than he would have expected and caught off-guard by the action, the red mech could only snap his helm back towards the door. For a moment, he saw blinding white and unjudging optics glowing up at him and felt a sliver of lust and want unfold inside him, before he squashed it in fear and guilt. Cycling a stiff intake, Blades shouldered his bag higher, turning contrite optics to his waiting brother.

"Y-you... you too," he mumbled back, "Be happy Streetwise."

He did not see the way the akita smiled sadly as he left, happy but lonely tears filling his optics.

**xxXxXxx**

When he had woken that morning, Vortex was nowhere to be found. Confused, even through his daze, First Aid had risen. It had taken much prodding from himself and more time spent idling, before he could even be bothered to clean the last few orn's activities off of his plating and dress, but all of this he did quickly when he felt those haunting voices begin to jeer from the bland walls. Shoving his way through panic, the australian shepherd managed to make himself look presentable before he fled his apartment entirely, desperate for air.

This was dangerous, he realized, circling his block for the umpteenth time. Shivering arms held himself as the vet looked about suspiciously, unable to squash the chilling sensation that everyone was watching him. He was losing his very mind, First Aid knew, and he was mere inches away from toppling over this worrisome precipice to the well of madness beneath. If he continued down this dark path...

First Aid shook his helm, rounding the corner past the local magazine stand yet again. He could feel the bubble of dark, black sludge boiling inside of him; hissing and swelling with its belly of vicious things, promising to expand until its tar-like skin could withstand it no longer and implode, tainting him entirely from within. He didn't want that... Didn't want to feel those things or think about t-that...

Vortex, his processor reminded him quickly. Vortex could make him forget. Vortex would tear it all away from him. The effect was instantaneous. Like running water over his frame, calm spread through the autodog's circuits, easing away his trouble, paranoia and terror. The frightening, evil, dangerous kittycon was perfect in his rapidly shattering perception, granting to the vet all the escapes he could ever hope for. To this creature he had willing written over all possession of himself, and First Aid was becoming addicted to the sort of cruelty he had become a slave to.

It was perfect, he smiled deliriously, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk for a moment.

Beautiful... painful... relinquishing...

First Aid started to shake and he forced himself into walking again, his smile falling off his face as realization set in. Vortex was the purest form of rapture there was to be found, his intoxicating drug, but the lynx had left. He was not around. If... if he did not return...

The australian shepherd hugged himself tightly again, increasing his pace until he had made his way back to his building. He eyed the apartment anxiously, shrinking at the voices starting to hiss and chuckle at the back of his helm. No... no... He had to come back! He would! He was the only one who could make it all go away and the autodog had sold himself to him, he-

First Aid didn't remember entering the building. He couldn't even remember the trip upstairs. But there he was again, standing in the entry way of his apartment, his dazed optics trying to make sense of the lynx lounging easily against the opposite wall. "Well, well, well...," Vortex crooned, visor pulsing eerily in the dim light. "I wandered in, expecting a surprise, only to find that you'd wandered off yourself, pet. I didn't think you were even capable of it."

An insult, a part of him noted. Yet, he didn't care. A feverish heat overtook him and the vet found himself pressed to the kittycon a moment later, servos twisting into the other's shirt and his mouth gasping as he breathed in the wild, bloody scent Vortex exuded. He was here. He had returned. Just as he had thought...

He had to make him stay. Sell him something new...

"P-please...," the australian shepherd begged, intakes rattling, even as he struggled to speak. He turned his tortured optics up to the lynx. "P-please... d-do not... don't l-leave a-again... S-Stay. I... I'll d-do anything. H-hurt me. S-stay and you c-can hurt me. I-i... I n-need..."

A grin split across that diabolical face and it caused a series of chills to jolt across his sensory grid in hungry anticipation. The devil had bitten; his apple, so chewed and sucked dry, still offered a final sweetness and this mech was drawn in. Knowing this -seeing this- was ecstasy itself to the poor 'bot. Gasping, First Aid did not protest the servo that ripped him free from the kittycon's frame; back-handing him and sending him crashing to the ground below.

Trembling -needfully, hungrily, wantonly, desperately- he yelped and whimpered as his arm was twisted violently behind his back, one wayward servo trailing down his backside to his pants.

Panting, First Aid smiled, ready for sweet oblivion.

**C.M.D: Forgot to mention, but the character Ignis is an OC that Randomus created in his story, who is the daughter of Blades and Streetwise. Some of you may have clued in to that by now, but I thought I'd clear up that up before people get too confused.**


	6. Blades and First Aid V

**C.M.D: Wish to avoid any gruesome scenes? FF.net has a censored version available!**

**Title: Blades and First Aid V**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warning: Incest and mentioned abuse**

The incessant buzzing broke through his haze of sleep. Stirring slowly, the autodog raised his helm, turning his aching neck around slowly, trying to pinpoint the sound. The heavy arm around his waist slipped off; his partner grunting softly, rolling over, kicking him away a tad. Fully awake now from the action, he shakily got to his pedes, stumbling away from the berth. The harrowing noise led him aimlessly around the room, until he found the source: a small plastic rectangle, buried in week's old laundry, with only a number written across its thin face.

The hospital...

First Aid felt conscience slowly return to him a little as he thumbed across the top of the object, silencing its noise. Getting back to his pedes, the australian shepherd slowly limped out of the room. Warm light peeked through the blinds, stinging his optics, but he merely raised a servo to them weakly, continuing his stagger to the kitchen. His trip ended with him nearly walking into the wall; helm tipping back as shaking fingers skimmed across the calendar pinned up.

Down the first week, then the second, and even the third, his finger snaked, before coming to a rest on the fourth orn from the end of the month. This orn's date. Shuttering his optics slowly, the autodog quietly stood, absorbing this revelation. His vacation was over, a part of him noted. He would have to go back to work; stop seeing Vortex...

As if to confirm that, his pager went off again. This time, it was Ratchet's personal cell number.

First Aid stared at the buzzing device, his fingers curling around it sluggishly, strangling it. He could not crush it, but now, it buzzed uselessly in his scarred servo. Walking to the sink, the vet plugged the drain, turning on the tap and watching water fill the basin. When it was more than half way, First Aid lifted his servo over the swirling water, dropping the pager into the frigid liquid. It plunked under the frothing surface with barely a sound, sinking almost delicately to the bottom.

Helm canted to the side, the australian shepherd turned the water off, staring blankly into the full sink for some time. He didn't hear the other mech sneak up behind him but he did feel the claws as they curled around the side of his face; digging into his cheekplate lightly, yanking him away from the counter.

"Someone wandered away," the sick voice purred above him, red visor glowing thinly. First Aid said nothing, looking up at Vortex dazedly, feeling hunger rise up within him. The kittycon could see the addiction shine in his glazed optics and his lip components split into a wide grin over sharp fangs.

With all the mocking tenderness of a lover, he pulled the autodog away from the kitchen and toward the bathroom; flicking the light on as he half-shoved First Aid inside. "My, my, my...," he chuckled lowly in amusement, "It seems someone is hungry. Good... I needed a diligent mouth."

First Aid did not make a sound as he was slapped, picked up and dropped carelessly into the bottom of the tub. Shivering against the cold metal, he looked up as Vortex climbed in next; the kittycon ignoring him as he reached behind the smaller mech, turning nozzles and reaching for the soap. "Well," he said coldly, looking down on the autodog disinterestedly. "What are you waiting for? Get to work."

The australian shepherd did not understand for a moment, wiping away the water that splashed down his face as Vortex casually began to shower. The lynx's command was made clear as his codpiece retracted, his spike brushing up along the other's cheekplate. Optics shuttering slowly, First Aid pushed himself up, knees bracing against the slick tub as his mouth and servos wrapped around the rigid cord. Something akin to peace came over him as he heard Vortex purr at his obedience; the grey mech scrubbing casually at an elbow as the autodog worked.

**xxXxXxx**

Ratchet let his phone ring, staring at the bars, as if pondering if they were to blame. But no, they were full, and his call was still getting somewhere apparently... If not, it wouldn't have even rung to begin with. All the same, his unease was growing -and with it, frustration as well. It had been three weeks already. Actually, three weeks and a couple orns.

He had assumed that First Aid would have come back to work yesterorn, but the australian shepherd had never shown. That in itself was unusual for his assistant. He'd spent the entire night trying to call him. Every time, the call cut after the first ring, informing him that the number he was trying to reach was unavailable. The labrador had only given up because after a while, he had passed out in his chair, phone still in his servo. The next morning though, he had resumed his efforts.

This time, he tried contacting First Aid's pager.

So far, it had yielded no results. He'd called from the nurses' station several times upon coming in, and when his first slue of patients had been taken care of, he'd grabbed his cell and persistently dialed the other autodog's pager number every few kliks. Still, no answer. The screen of his cellphone lighted as the call automatically ended, having reached the max number of rings it could attempt on one number. Frowning as he sat, waiting to see if someone would call back, Ratchet tried his best to squash the unease tying knots in his tanks.

No calls, no updates on his status, nothing at all that could ensure the older mech that his assistant was doing alright. He'd only given the vacation time to First Aid, believing that he had really needed it, but now the vet wasn't so sure. Maybe what the younger autodog had really needed was to stay at work, or maybe even be kindly taken to the on-site counsellor. Instead though, he'd let First Aid flee at the first, reasonable chance and now Ratchet was beginning to regret it. Being a vet meant that you could pick up the signs... but it didn't always mean you were able to act in time.

And the signs he had read from the australian shepherd that orn showed that his young friend had suffered something traumatic to him, and it was quickly spiraling him down a dangerous path.

A path that he seemed to have already ran half-way down...

Snapping his cell shut, Ratchet growled as he shuffled through his files, ripping his schedule free from a pile of growing paper work. He still had a few cycles to complete in the clinic this orn, but after that, he was free. The labrador cursed. A few cycles was a lot... especially when he was racing against a clock he had never seen before now.

There was no way to get out of it though. The staff was a little bogged down this week, due to the lack of available vets and nurses, as result of a contagious virus that a few patients had brought in. Which meant Ratchet was stuck here until punch-out.

He cursed again.

The autodog rose to his pedes, tugging his medical coat on in ire, marching for his office door. He'd do what he had to -he wouldn't turn away those that needed his help- but the moment all was clear, he was gone. There was someone who needed his help more, right now... and he feared it might be too late.

**xxXxXxx**

He'd been rougher this time.

First Aid slid a servo slowly across his lip components, touching the crack in the soft plating, scabbed over with a stiff streak of energon. Grabbing the wash clothe, he lathered it up with some soap, gently scrubbing away the dirt that clung to his face. The layers lifted but only showed the dent on his cheekplate, so rich and dark, matching the similar ones under both optics. Slowly, the autodog canted his helm, staring at his reflection mutely.

The other mech copied his motion in the glass, shuttering their optics at him blankly.

Who are you?, the question flickered passively across his processor.

A small crash from the living room tore First Aid's attention from the stranger staring back at him; rinsing the clothe quickly, he turned, limping out of the bathroom slowly. Vortex growled, pacing the length of the apartment in stormy silence. He kicked the broken glass -the source of the crash- across the kitchen floor as he rounded back into the living room, hissing something under his intakes as he threw himself onto the couch roughly. The springs popped and squealed at the sudden act, slowly going quiet under the kittycon's frame as he stretched out across the length of it.

Grumbling still, Vortex glared up at the ceiling, fingers tapping restlessly into the fabric. A peculiar response from the lynx, for sure, but First Aid did not notice. Life was a dream -a haze- he merely walked through, fixated on transferring from one moment to the next, ever orchestrated by the spider who he had willingly surrendered to. Walking forward quietly, the australian shepherd approached the kittycon, still unnoticed or more than likely ignored. Of course, he was completely unaware himself.

Gently, passively, he clambered up onto the couch, slinging one leg over each side of Vortex's waist; servos spreading out slowly over the grey mech's bare chestplates. At his bold touch, the lynx tipped his helm down, staring silently at the autodog. First Aid did not smile or whimper or otherwise show any sign of emotion, but his optics clouded further with his spell as he leaned forwards, servos sliding up to tense shoulders and bruised mouth pressing against a thin one. He moved, sluggishly, almost tentatively, down the kittycon's frame; brushing kisses across the other's jaw and neck, even daring to lap into the seams of his chestplates as kittens would.

The australian shepherd made his way down at a snail's pace, continuing with his ministrations, absorbed in his task and the sense of serenity it washed over him, making him even forgetful to the aches and pains he could feel across his own frame.

Without barely a warning, Vortex shoved him off.

First Aid released a small sound as he hit the floor hard, jarring his shoulder at his unexpected tumble. Looking around dazedly, the vet struggled to push himself up, watching as Vortex rose from the couch and stalked through the apartment without a backwards glance at him. A jolt of panic flashed through First Aid as he realized that the kittycon was heading for the door. Opening his mouth, he tried to speak, but the words only tripped out in a pathetic squeak of static, betraying him.

_Come back_ , he wanted to whimper.

_Come back._

_I need you._

_I **love** you..._

Vortex did not stop. "Your fridge is empty," was all he said, before the apartment door was slamming shut behind him.

Robbed of all energy and sense, First Aid dropped back down to the floor; wheezing weakly as trembles overcame him, already desperate for the lynx to return.

**xxXxXxx**

Blades rubbed the back of his helm where Yoketron had "accidentally" clipped him with the back of his walking stick, glaring at the old mech's back as he walked around to the filing cabinet. "...old fart...," he mumbled under his intakes.

"I still have ears as sharp as a young pup's," came the quick reply.

The bull terrier stuck his glossa at Yoketron. "I had thought you were a mech now, Blades," the old mech added, his calm vocalizer unusually smug, "Making faces behind my backstruts is certainly not the mark of an independent autodog."

_'How the frag does he do that?!,'_ Blades yelled baffled in his processor.

"With many years of practice."

Turning, Yoketron smiled at the visibly disturbed mercenary, looking very much the picture of a sweet, innocent old mech. Blades knew better though. Crossing his arms over his chestplates, the younger autodog snorted impatiently, eyeing the intelligence officer up and down discretely. "So other than to bore me, why the slag am I in here?," he asked tersely, "I thought I had a mission to get to."

"Unfortunately, due to your lack of presence, it has been handed off to someone else equally capable for the task," the kai ken continued, ignoring the sullen glare Blades sent him. Circling around the room, the old mech took a seat in his chair on the other side of the desk. With a small flick of his servo, he gestured for Blades to take the other seat directly across from him.

With a short huff, the red autodog did such, still burning holes into Yoketron's helm. "By the way, you did receive some mail during your... absence...," the other announced, shuffling through a stack of envelopes. He drew out a bundle of eight or so, tied together with string, before holding it across the desk for his companion to take.

Blades stared at it, bewildered by the amount.

Yoketron waited until the bull terrier had taken the envelopes before slowly shuffling through the few folders on his desk; folding his servos together as he fixed his attention back to the other mech. "Now, seeing as you have a fair amount of 'vacation time', perhaps we could get you started back on your training. I understand you find the practice drills ridiculous, but if you slack off in any of them, you are more prone to temper tantrums and the last thing we need is for another decimation of an entire enemy squad," the intelligence officer said, "And during a reconnaissance mission, no less."

The mercenary, of course, was barely paying attention. He pulled the string off of his mail, shuffling through them. All were letters from Ignis. The very last one was marked 'Urgent', in red pen, with her cursive scrawl. Spark puttering shortly at the sight, he quickly dropped the others into his lap; tearing into the one envelope.

"You won't need to fret. Another mission will be coming around shortly, and if it is suitable, you will be the first I hand it off to, so-" A polite knock at the door interrupted the kai ken. Glancing at his companion, seeing that he was being fully ignored now, Yoketron sighed, before gesturing to the mech through the little window.

The soldier bowed his helm respectively as he entered, heading straight for the older mech. Yoketron accepted the datapad he carried with him, turning it on. His expression grew reserved as he slowly scrolled through the report; at one point, he stopped altogether, looking up at Blades with an unreadable look, before continuing all the way to the bottom.

With a nod and a wave, he dismissed the soldier, rising to his pedes and starting to gather his things, the datapad on top.

Blades never noticed. His optics were glued to the paper in his servos, flaring as he re-read over the short paragraph. Ignis never had wrote short letters before, but then again, she had never shared with him such mysterious, frightening news. She had even skipped her usual 'love you' sign off, and instead had written stiffly, 'Get home.'

Shaking -with rage, with fear, with nausea, with anything and everything- the bull terrier crumpled the letter as he jumped to his pedes, turning towards the door with a ferocious snarl. He was immediately intercepted by Yoketron.

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way. Old. Aft," he bit between his denta.

The kai ken folded his servos neatly over the sparrow top of his cane, refusing to budge. "I do not know what has upset you now, Blades, but I can assure you, it takes second precedence."

The bull terrier snarled at that. "Move," he warned one last time, his optics glaring with the finality of his patience. Yoketron merely shuttered his optics up at him.

Growling, Blades tried to flank around the older autodog to grab the door. Solid wood cracked across his servo as he was shoved back with a quick sweep of the other's servo. Stumbling, optics flared slightly in surprise at Yoketron's daring move, the mercenary roared, before charging across the small space, arms outstretched.

The kai ken barely flinched. He swept forward, side-stepping once, twice; twirling like ribbons in the wind as he knocked Blades' arms aside, grabbing his elbow, twisting it until the joint cracked dangerously, before taking a quick step back. He followed up with a deft kick to the bull terrier's hip, making one leg collapse under him; thin pedes sweeping up, cracking Blades' helm back with a wet sound before Yoketron flipped over the younger mech entirely. Trying to wheeze through what might of been a broken rib piping from the earlier elbow jab, the mercenary flinched against the cane held against his neck cables, noticing cool, blue optics looking down on him from the corner of his vision.

"Do not make me restrain you, Blades," Yoketron said softly. "You would serve me better right now, uninjured and cooperating."

Blades glared at the insult. Still, he knew better than to struggle when he was already pinned down. The intelligence officer was a hard enough opponent when he was standing. Waiting a moment longer, Yoketron slowly withdrew his cane, unsurprised when the younger mech took this opportunity to leap to his pedes; whirling around on the other with a snarl.

Sighing, the kai ken did not move from his spot. "Be angry at me if you must," he started as Blades charged across the room, prepared now for any fancy moves, "But the situation has changed in regards to several factors. I'm calling everyone in."

The fist whistling through the air stopped inches before his faceplates.

Huffing lightly with rage, Blades stared uncertainly at the older mech. Raising a servo after a moment, Yoketron grabbed his companion's fist; gently lowering it back down to his side.

The bull terrier decided to let it slide. "What... situation?," he asked lowly, still trying to cap his anger. He was mad; he wanted to pummel something. He wanted to run all the way back to Iacon, comfort his little femme, find the 'bot that left strange stains in First Aid's berth and kill them. But curiosity was tugging, and his sensors tingled as he noticed a particular bloodlust rising in Yoketron.

It had been almost stellar cycles since he had last noticed that.

Turning away, the kai ken walked to the door, opening it. "You will be informed shortly," he said, glancing back at Blades seriously, "Be in Conference room A in five kliks. I would highly advise that you don't be late."

Then he left. Leaving Blades to stand there, pondering on his next course of action.

**xxXxXxx**

Something warm trickled down past his ears.

Stirring slightly, he tried to online his optics and found that even when he did, everything was a useless, hazy blur. Sluggishly, he began to notice that he couldn't move. Too numb, came the answer, slow like molasses. He could barely feel his limbs, let alone lift them.

The entire world bounced and jarred for a moment; an action that he would not have noticed entirely, if it were not for the fact that his optics could barely keep up with the rapid shift in environment. As it was, it took what felt like kliks for them to reorient themselves again. Now he noticed he was staring at his servo, fingers painted black with dirt and speckles of what looked like energon.

Worry. There should have been worry somewhere there inside of him.

He was lying on his side, on cold, grungy metal. The only source of light was a poor bulb lit, it seemed, miles above his helm. Something still trickled down his cheekplate, tingling every sensor in its wake. He was barely aware that he was not alone; something jerking against his frame, out of sight, releasing a frightened whimper. Several more similar sounds accompanied it as all of reality jostled again.

He started to slip back into the blankness he had woken from, a whispered name ghosting through his processor...

_Vortex..._

Metal clipped loudly against metal. A panicked sob rendered the air.

Then First Aid thought no more.


	7. Blades and First Aid VI

**Title: Blades and First Aid VI**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warnings: Kidnapping, abuse, explicit language**

No matter how many times he knocked, no one answered. "...come on 'Aid...," Ratchet mumbled worriedly, rapping his knuckles on the door for the umpteenth time, "...answer. Please..." Only the sound of his own knocking echoed down the hall.

Venting quietly, Ratchet pulled his sore servo away from the door, staring at the wood. Some of the paint had chipped off from his earlier banging, and there was a good chance that the shadow he saw was actually a small dent from his repeated knocking. Yet even after all that, no one had come to the door. He couldn't even hear anyone inside either.

"... slaggit!," the labrador growled, kicking the door frame. He pressed a servo to his optics, feeling guilt rot in his fuel tanks. This was all his fault. He should have responded sooner; should have insisted that First Aid stayed at the hospital and kept a close optic on him. Now, he'd failed.

"...sir?"

Ratchet lifted his helm at the polite whisper, turning his helm to the young femme on his left. Her blue optics shuttered up at him quietly, worried and anxious. "...you're Ratchet, aren't you?," she asked. "My brother's boss."

The old mech faced her fully. "Yes. And you must be Ignis then." She nodded.

Glancing at the door, the femme cycled a shaky intake, optics starting to glaze with coolant. "H...h-he's not in there, sir," she swallowed sharply. "I-i looked already. Th-through the window, I-i mean... T-the place is e-empty... a-and a mess... I-i-"

"Woah, woah now...," Ratchet quickly mumbled, stepping up to the femme. He rested his servos on her shoulder plating, trying to hold back his unease. "Breathe. That's it... deep breath... Can... can you tell me what's going on here?"

Ignis did as instructed shortly, servos shaking at her sides. "I...I d-don't r-really know w-what's happening, s-sir," she confessed, a sob highlighted in her tone. "I... I t-tried coming a f-few days after First Aid d-didn't s-show up for our f-family dinner. M-my older brother was c-coming into t-town, you s-see... a-and we d-don't seem him o-often... B-but when I c-came, t-there w-was n-no one here a-and First A-aid was l-looking a-at our m-medical files a-and his s-sheets were s-stained w-with energon a-and tr-transfluids-"

He pulled the femme into a hug as soon as her servos shot up to her face, stifling the terrified sob that escaped her. "I-i d-don't k-know whe-where h-he is a-and I-i'm s-scared he m-might b-be in d-danger! T-there's reports o-of m-missing a-autodogs a-and-"

"S-shh...," the labrador hushed gently, squeezing the femme tightly. "L...let's not jump to conclusions just yet. First, we need to talk to your parents... and then we can take things from there. Alright?" He pulled back a tad, trying to meet the smaller autodog's optics. Wiping her face quickly, Ignis nodded, biting back her whimpers as best as she could.

"C...c-come...," she croaked, stepping back and towards the staircase. "I-i'll s-show you where we l-live..."

**xxXxXxx**

"Move..."

Shouting voices. Always shouting.

"Move or I'll pump ya full of led!"

First Aid cringed as he was bumped and jostled down the dark, grungy hall; armed mechs on either side keeping the slue of captives in line. Not a single one of them could breathe properly, let alone move, still, they were shoved along by gun point further into the never-ending darkness.

He should have been frightened...

The group he was in were. They whimpered and cried, some holding onto each other; others just glancing at their abductors with terror, before turning their optics back down to their shuffling pedes. Most of them were so young... The australian shepherd caught himself as an autodog behind him tripped, crashing into his back. The poor femme sobbed as she righted herself, her fingers still clutched desperately in his shirt.

"Shut it!," one of the mechs snarled, grabbing her by the helm. He ripped her away from the line, tearing her grip free from First Aid's shirt, unmindful of her shrieking or thrashing of terror. "Silence that stupid sniveling or I'll silence it for you!" He put his pistol in her mouth, glaring at her.

The group slowed a tad, all helms turned back at the unfortunate femme in horror. They whimpered and shook on her behalf, trying not to scream as the assailant cocked the gun. Choking on her sobs and fear, the femme shuttered her optics; trembling in the mech's grasp. Fluid slowly trickled down her thigh, dripping to the ground below.

Snorting, the mech threw her back into the throng, while his cohorts chortled cruelly. "Consider yourself lucky that you are necessary for a higher cause," her tormentor informed. "Now, I don't remember saying you duckies could stop... MOVE!"

Rifles and shotguns were shoved back in their faces and backstruts, urging the terrified group to trot forward again. First Aid was forced to follow the pace, still trying to remember how he had gotten here. He... He remembered being sated, safe... Walking, needing to fulfill an important task, before...

This.

Aching joints, sore processor, whimpering and crying and told to move by monsters behind guns. A feeling he was strangely familiar with.

**xxXxXxx**

Blades shuttered his optics for a moment as he entered the room. Wow. Yoketron hadn't been kidding when he said he was calling everyone in. The old kai ken, obviously, sat up at the front with his buddy Soundblaster, fiddling with a projector. On the right, sitting in the first available seat was Ransack, cracking jokes with Bombshell, Sixshot just beside them, then Ironfist and Razorclaw. Brainstorm was sitting at the far end of the table, people giving him obvious distance, while he played with a datapad in his servos. Not too far away from him, on the left side of the room, was Kup; pedes up, whiskey bottle in his servos, the old coot looking surprisingly comfortable beside the resident crazy.

Even Onslaught, the bore, was here too. Along with... his sons...

The bull terrier glared as he met the lynx's gaze, Vortex waggling his fingers and grinning back at him. Primus, how he hated that mech. He got stuck during a group mission once with Onslaught's sons; Blast Off was a regular aft, Brawl a bit too retarded for his liking, but he hadn't minded them much at all. Vortex though...

Blades _despised_ that kittycon. He reminded him of some of the sick freaks he'd dealt with back during the war -and this one he was forbidden from skinning.

Yoketron cleared his vocalizer a tad as Soundblaster drew down the projection screen, calling for attention. Immediately, any and all idle chatter quieted; all Wreckers turning to face their two older allies. Turning the projector on, Yoketron looked at all of them solemnly, as the lights dimmed.

"I have gathered you here today because an event we have diligently been tracking has suddenly taken a dark and unforgivable turn," the kai ken began, "And it's time for the Wreckers to step in before things escalate beyond hope..."

**xxXxXxx**

_Outside._

_He hated outside._

_But this was necessary; it was needed if he was ever to get him to come back. Vortex. He had left, because he had nothing left to sustain his savior's physical appetite. A mistake on his part. He should have been more diligent. Should have known to take better care._

_No matter, First Aid smiled to himself. He would correct his mishap, and then the lynx would return, and things would be perfect as they once were. And he would no longer have to be out here among all the others._

_Soothed by these thoughts, the autodog picked up his pace, eager to get to the market. He knew of a good one nearby, that had the best groceries. He would select some fresh vegetables and the like, and cook Vortex a meal, as apology and incentive to return. The vet was certain that the grey mech would approve. Humming, First Aid turned down a side street, planning to get to the store sooner by taking a short cut. He lifted his helm as he heard voices up ahead._

_A small, white autodog looked up to a taller mech; talking about things that the australian shepherd could not hear. Bothers, he thought, moving to make sure he walked around them. Out of the corner of his optic, he saw the little shih tzu's smile falter, before he took a step away from the stranger, shaking his helm. He tried to walk away._

_The mech snarled, lunging at the youngling, grabbing his wrist._

_First Aid stared as the shih tzu dropped his flowers, asking for release while tugging weakly._

_...He shouldn't be doing that..., a part of him whispered faintly. That wasn't right..._

" _...wait...," he mumbled, taking a step towards the two. The vet didn't even know if his words had been spoken at all. All the same, large, baby blue optics lifted, connecting with his; surprise and hope shining in them momentarily._

_The shih tzu opened his mouth widely, probably to cry out for help, when the stranger slapped a servo over his mouth; whirling around and glaring at the other autodog. Optics flared in partial surprise, before a sinister grin spread across the mech's face._

_A flicker of fear passed through First Aid._

_Tires screeched down the side street as a grey van suddenly appeared, racing for the trio. Panic thrashed a few of its fingers through his daze, curling into the australian shepherd's spark; screaming for him to flee. He turned to do so and foolishly stared at the poor youngling, thrashing for help in his captor's hold._

_His moment to escape was gone._

_The van drew right up to First Aid before he even could clue in to what was happening next; side door slamming open and a set of servos grabbing him. Kicking and flailing, the autodog was pulled into the blackness, fighting to get the tainted clothe away from his face. But his captor had a strong grip and his naive attempt to scream for help had drawn the chemical straight into his vents -already, First Aid could feel the chloroform soaking into his joints and circuits, making him sluggish and sleepy._

_Carelessly, he was shoved back into the vehicle to make room for the stranger dragging the flailing shih tzu into the van. When he tried to get up all the same, he was slapped back down to the grungy floor; the sound of a rifle cracking in his ears as he dropped off into darkness._

**xxXxXxx**

A map of Cybetron glowed on the projector screen.

"For the past year, small reports of a new cult has begun to rise. Their followers were very few, hardly noticeable at first. Mostly kittycons within a certain age group, rumoured to pay tributes to an unknown deity in return for prosperity. The documented believers were farmers, in unfortunate, isolated country towns. Climate troubles, among other things, made for poor crops each season..."

"Hey," a voice hissed softly under Yoketron's chatter, annoying to the ears, "Hey... Blades..."

The bull terrier clenched his fists, trying to ignore the kittycon.

"Their new-found religion was insignificant and henceforth irrelevant," Yoketron continued, clicking the remote for the slide show. A picture of a group of men patrolling a patch of cabins showed next. "Then a report came that the very same religion, carrying the exact same signature marks and traditions, was being practised in a more populated town up north. The sudden rise of numbers was a little shocking, but not nearly as much as what the files reported next..."

"Hey, Blades..."

Blades glared at the lynx from the corner of his optic, unable to brush aside the frustrating kittycon's pestering. He wondered if he could crack through that stupid visor with one of his daggers before someone stopped him.

At his attention, even minute, Vortex grinned insanely, fingers scratching excitedly across the table top. "You have a brother... right?"

"Members were noted to be mutilated. Cut, burned, limbs missing... The amount of self-inflicted wounds vary, in count and method. Intelligence was sent in to try and extract specifics on the deity worshipped and the demands required from its followers, but our officers never got through." Another picture popped on the screen. This one of a bunker. "A raid was attempted, but only ended in failure. Members of the religion had moved on."

The red mech tried to hold back his snarl, turning his helm away from the kittycon. Anger was rising in him quickly; his servos circled tightly around his knives. He didn't want to hear this freak talk about his brothers, or anyone else in his family for that matter.

But Vortex was relentless. "What was his name...?," the other mech whispered softly, amusement in his tone, "Ah... yes... First Aid."

"Almost all evidence of the followers' presence there had been cleared out. But just enough had been left behind to reveal to us, that this was no new faith. This was a cult."

Blades snapped his helm to Vortex, fangs bared silently in rage. A part of him knew responding to the crazy mech was the wrong thing to do, but he didn't care. The fragger had mentioned First Aid. Visor glowing with his delight, the lynx leaned forward an inch, smiling sickly at the autodog.

"Yes... that was his name; I remember now," he snickered lowly. "You've got a very sweet brother there, Blades-a-roo. Very... soft... warm... willing to spread his legs... I never thought he'd be so accommodating, but I guess being a nurse or whatever makes him very negotiable. Maybe we should have more whores take up a quick medical course, huh?"

"Several bodies were fou-"

A roar interrupted Yoketron; Blades throwing himself across the table at the grinning lynx, daggers drawn. Immediately the lights came back on as mechs tried to grab the bull terrier and lynx, struggling to pull the two away from each other. Blades snarled, bellowing with the rage of twenty mechs; almost dislodging Razorclaw and Brawl. Pinned to the wall by his own sire and brother, Vortex laughed, a glossa peaking out and licking at the trail of energon dripping from his cracked visor.

"What a show!," he howled with amusement. "Come on! Let him go! I want to see what the rage-fest can do!"

"I'LL KILL YOU!," the red mech roared, thrashing harder to get free. "YOU FRAGGER! I'LL RIP OUT YOUR SPIKE AND FRAG YOU WITH IT DOWN YOUR FRAGGING SICK, LYING THROAT! DON'T YOU DARE TALK ABOUT HIM! DON'T YOU FRAGGING EVER THINK OF FIRST AID AGAIN, YOU PATHETIC, DEMENTED-"

"Enough!" Yoketron's voice cut threw the din, silencing everyone with its soft, deadly tone. Still struggling to pull free from his restraints, Blades turned his helm to the kai ken, growling.

"I won't be silent until-"

"You will be, Blades," the old mech interrupted coldly. His gaze was icy as he looked at the bull terrier. "Because if you can not cooperate, you are out of this mission. And believe me... you're necessary to its success."

Lifting his servo, Yoketron clicked the button on the projector's remote, bringing up the next picture.

Silence reigned at the two individual, smiling faces shining back at the group.

Onslaught was the first to break it. "...Yoketron, _explain_."

The old mech sat down in his chair again, servos folded on the table top grimly. "Meet a couple of our latest victims...," he started lowly.

**xxXxXxx**

He'd lived through this before... but that didn't make this any easier.

First Aid sat, hugging his legs to his chestplates, as he surveyed the rest of his companions. Held in a dark, dingy room -the only light shining through the crack under the door- they sat, huddled in groups; crying quietly, hugging each other, soft pleas for help escaping them. Autodogs. All of them. White, if not mostly, youngling, mech and femme. Not a single one of them was older than forty stellar cycles; the probability that most of them were still sealed was high.

This had been a selective hunt, the vet noted sombrely. Like the concentration camp he faintly recalled from his sparkling years. Except no one had forced them into hard labour. They hadn't even been made to do anything of any sort... At least, not yet. Tucking his chin further between his knee joints, First Aid stared blankly at the others, knowing with certainty that their nightmare had not even reached its pinnacle yet. There was a purpose to them being here, after all.

_Vortex..._

He shuttered his optics, venting quietly. There was no fear; no tears. What was the use of crying? Why be afraid? Their captors had already stripped them of all dignity: leaving them in a dark, stained room; clothes ripped from their frames and left to shiver in their underwear; a pathetic bowl of water and gruel brought in twice an orn and kicked across the floor for them to receive, as if they were mere animals. Biding time, was all. The vet could fathom the turn their precarious situation might take, and that grim finality stripped away any chance to whimper and pray as his fellow autodogs did.

But Vortex would come. There was the promise of loyalty -of devotion and love. The kittycon would come for him. It was what the australian shepherd clung to. It was his truth, and his only reason for keeping calm. Panic would get them killed faster.

First Aid onlined his optics as he heard something shuffle closer to him; lifting his helm, he glanced momentarily at the youngling kneeling beside him. It was the shih tzu he had seen before, the same one that he'd been abducted with as well, for trying to help.

"...h-hi," the youngling smiled weakly, "I'm Fireflight. Thank you... for trying to help..."

The vet slowly shuttered his optics.

"I'm sorry that I got you involved."

"...I know," First Aid replied lowly, lip components stretching with a twinge of pain. The scab had yet to fully heal. Ignoring his discomfort, the older mech slowly rested his chin back in his knees, needing to rest his optics again.

He felt so tired...

Something pressed into his side slightly, and cracking open an optic, the australian shepherd was faintly surprised to see that Fireflight had moved to sit beside him; the shih tzu folding his servos on his knee joints as he leaned against the wall with First Aid. The youngling did not say anything and he did not look over at First Aid. He merely sat there, quietly and comfortably, looking over the other autodogs with a dim, curious expression.

Confused slightly, the vet slowly shuttered his optics again, processor full of kittycons and guns and knights with insane grins...

**xxXxXxx**

"First Aid and Fireflight..." the kai ken continued, looking at each of the Wreckers individually. "Faces some of you recognize. Others, not so. The cult, as we discovered this growing religion to be, was not in fact for farmers in poor back-water country towns. In fact, they seem to have no real method or origin, but its become apparent that they operate in an underground network. A frightening number of followers, these mechs -ranging from thirty stellar cycles to about eighty- collect and presumably try to... _exonerate_ the 'sacred ones', as they are called, through their faith."

"Before, those 'sacred ones' were volunteers. But soon, such fanatics were hard to come by. Our cultists then resorted to kidnapping. There have been numerous missing persons reports filed since the start of the decade, and I'm afraid a pattern has come into light. Autodogs -sparklings all the way up to thirty or so stellar cycles- have gone missing. All of them have had the same characteristics: white plating, short stature, noted for having sweet dispositions and of purer breeding." Yoketron paused, changing the picture for a moment. Members cringed at the gruesome image they found themselves looking at next.

"They have moved into central territory, snatching those that fit their profiles straight from day time streets and even outside their very own homes," he went on, shoulders tense, "Primarily, all of their captives are virgins. No ransoms had ever been made and it's clear they have no wish to release their captives. It is believed that they try to fulfill some sort of quota required by their Cult -perhaps, use the victims as keys to achieve a higher sort of enlightenment. But..."

The screen changed again, showing a collage of multiple, vicious deaths. Each victim was accompanied by their missing persons sheet.

"As seen, this order seems to be unable to meet that requirement. These are some of the earlier mechs and femmes to have gone missing... All of them found, dumped carelessly in ravines and other abandoned places, tortured... mutilated... and, as the labs have discovered, brutally raped by more than several assailants..."

The screen returned to the two mechs from earlier, as Yoketron turned in his chair, facing the group once more.

"In this week alone, these mechs have managed to kidnap a staggering two hundred and twelve autodogs -from Kaon, Vos, Iacon, Helex and Tesarus. That is more than they have ever taken in six months. They are gearing up for something, and it is necessary that we put a stop to their sick religion before these poor souls suffer the same as their predecessors."

"For you...," the kai ken glanced at Onslaught and then Blades, "This becomes personal. For it's your brother, Blades, and your son-in-law Onslaught, that have now become involved in this dark affair. Military and federal law would state that I keep you out of a case so personal... but I believe you can be an asset. Your specific traits and your loyalty to your loved ones can lead us to discovering the base of operations for this Cult and to save these victims before it's too late. Am I wrong?"

Vortex twisted out of Onslaught's grip, grinning viciously at the older mech. "I do so enjoy a good hunt," he growled lowly.

"...it's 'hold no bars', yeah...?," Blades asked quietly. Yoketron nodded. Gently shaking the kittycons off, the bull terrier sat at the table; a knife gouging into the wood. "Good. Then let's talk facts."

Yoketron looked at all of the mechs in turn again, the faintest smile touching at his lip components as he pulled out his datapad finally. Tense, but resolved now, each of the Wreckers waited to hear the rest of the mission details, their thoughts on the sick fraggers they'd soon be plunging into the Pit.


	8. Soundwave and Tracks IV

**Title: Soundwave and Tracks IV**   
**Rating: M**

"Bro... come play with me," Rumble whined.

The red sparkling glanced at his twin, before peeking back into the window. From his perch, he could almost see his creator in the kitchen, perchance attempting to make the oil cakes they all loved. More than like they would only end up over-cooked or burned to a crisp... Tracks wasn't the greatest at cooking. Still, the little kittycon would have rather been inside with his mommy then outside.

"Jeez, you're boring," Rumble grumbled. "Such a momma's 'bot... I'm going for a ride; follow if you want." The blue mech got on his skateboard and rolled away.

Frenzy actually turned his attention away to watch his brother go, before abandoning his own board where it laid, heading back inside. The house was cool compared to the heat of outdoors, and Tracks' humming was apparent now. Quietly, the sparkling padded into the kitchen, watching in silence as his creator stirred a bowl of batter.

"Oh, Frenzy... What are you doing inside?," the pomeranian asked, taking notice of his son. "I thought you were outside playing with your brother."

"He went skateboarding," Frenzy replied, walking further into the kitchen. "I didn't feel like going." The kittycon stopped just before the autodog, holding his arms out.

Tracks smiled at the familiar gesture, putting his mixing bowl aside momentarily so he could bend down and lift his son up. "Oomph," the mech groaned, seating the sparkling on the counter. "You're getting heavier there, darling," Tracks sighed, "You're growing up...soon, I won't be able to pick you up like this anymore."

The little kittycon looked distressed. "Does that mean you won't tuck me in anymore. O-or... or give me hugs?," Frenzy squeaked fearfully. "'C-cause if so, t-then I don't want to grow up. I'll stay little forever!"

The pomeranian chuckled lightly, scratching under his son's chin to soothe the sparkling. "Unfortunately, love, you will grow up. We can't stop that," Tracks informed Frenzy. "But... that doesn't mean that I'll stop loving you, and I'll more than gladly give you all the hugs you want; whenever you want them."

"...promise...?," the tiny kittycon asked.

The autodog smiled softly, scooping his son up in a tight hug. "Promise," he answered, pecking the crest of the sparkling's helm. Frenzy purred contently, nuzzling back into his creator's embrace.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"N-no, oooh... W-we can't. T-the boys, th-they... they'll b-be ho-ooooooooooo...home soon."

"Arrival: inconsequential," Soundwave rumbled, pressing closer to his trembling bondmate. His visible lip components pressed against the back of Tracks' neck cables, his servos wandering all over the autodog's frame. Already, he had unzipped the front of the pomeranian's pants and was fondling the heated metal within. "Now: open up."

"O-oh _Primus_ ," Tracks groaned, obeying the command. His codpiece retracted, allowing his spike to pressurize into his bondmate's waiting fist. The clench of thick digits around his sensitive shaft made the autodog keen; grinding into the fist and then back into the kittycon's hip plating. But aside from his writhing, Soundwave was doing nothing, and his stillness was beginning to grate on Tracks' circuitry.

"P-please," the multi-coloured mech panted, collapsing against the front of the counter. He forced his helm up, turning it so he could see the persian. "Please, Soundwave... t-take me. I n-need to feel y-your spike within me."

"Plea: acknowledged," Soundwave replied, systems almost drowning out his words with their roaring. He released his hold on Tracks' spike, pushing the pomeranian against the counter top further while his other servo yanked the mech's slacks down past his thighs. Tracks mewled impatiently, wiggling his hips, as the kittycon hurried to free his own spike; visor fixed almost ravenously on that glorious valve, calling out to him with its clenching cables and leaking lubricants.

Finally, Soundwave had his own zipper down and his spike free; thrusting into the waiting autodog wordlessly. Tracks arched against the counter top, howling to the ceiling as his fingers scrabbled for purchase along the marble. The persian slipped his arm about the slimmer mech's waist, leaning forwards and catching one of the pomeranian's ears between his denta; nibbling on it softly as he ground his hips against Tracks' aft.

"S-so _good_...," Tracks whimpered, one servo clenching the arm about his middle. "O-oh Primus... mmmmmm... s-slag. D-don't stop!" Soundwave complied with the order, shifting his hold on his bondmate, while he aimed for the more receptive sensor nodes within the autodog.

"Hey dad, hey mo- Oh, _fragging Unicron_! What the _slag_ are you guys' _doing?!_ "

Tracks gasped at the horrified cry, turning his helm so quickly to the kitchen doorway that he was sure he heard something crack. Rumble and Frenzy looked on at their parents -tangled in an intimate embrace- and were stunned into gross dismay. "S-stop!," the pomeranian squeaked, trying to push the blue mech off of him. Soundwave though was having none of that.

He pushed the autodog back onto the counter, holding him there so tightly that the edge was biting into Tracks' abdomen almost painfully. Any of his anger or embarrassment faded the instant the persian thrust back into him though; pushing so deep that his pelvic plating was pressed seamlessly against Tracks' aft, the pomeranian moaning at the wonderful stretch of his valve about Soundwave's girth. With some minor difficulty, the kittycon turned his attention to his two still-traumatized sons.

"R-rumble, Frenzy...," the blue mech panted, "Order: go to your rooms. _Now_."

The command snapped the younglings out of their stupor, and they quickly fled from the kitchen; the horrifying scene they had just walked into still playing before their visors. "...and they wonder why we don't bring friends over...," Frenzy grumbled, trying to block out his creator's cries of pleasure as the twins bolted up the stairs.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracks had always been an "in the scene" type of 'bot.

Before Soundwave had started in on his plans to woo the pomeranian into being his bondmate, he had spent many cycles simply watching the autodog. Tracks was seen at almost every high-class function, hired out for the evening on another 'bot's arm, and even a few more low-key ones. As long as the place was trendy and the company good, the autodog was there. The kittycon had simply accepted Tracks' gusto for a party as part of his programming.

Which is why it threw him that after the twins were born, Tracks began to shy away from such scenes. Oh, it wasn't to be mistaken that the autodog didn't love to go out; Tracks still enjoyed dressing up and spending an evening with the persian out on the town. But aside from social gatherings for work and the occasional date nights the two mechs had, Tracks did not want to participate in any other parties. He didn't care about hosting celebrations or events for himself, and especially for Rumble and Frenzy. Birthdays, Christmas, Graduations, Thanksgiving... all of those type of occasions turned into a sort of quiet affair for the family. It completely went against all that Soundwave knew of Tracks, and left the kittycon wondering as to why.

When he couldn't discover the answer for himself, he eventually approached his bondmate about it and asked. Tracks, surprised, shuttered his optics up at the persian, before blushing and looking off to the side in embarrassment.

"Because," the autodog started softly. "Those sort of things are meant for family... and you three are the only family I have. Sometimes it is nice to invite friends over to celebrate, but at the end of the day, I really only want spend those most joyous occasions with the ones I treasure most."

Soundwave had immediately scooped Tracks up into his arms, kissing him soundly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Very handsome are being," Jetstorm piped up, setting down his tupperware container of desserts on the patio table. Rumble and Frenzy preened at the older mech's praise, further displaying their brand new swimming trunks that their creator had bought them just the orn before.

"Yeah, they're really awesome," the blue sparkling bragged, patting at the ivy-coloured material.

"Your suits are cool too," the red twin piped up. The two hybrids paused in their actions, smiling at the younger 'bots. Jetfire was wearing a square bikini about his slender frame, in a leafy pattern of summer pinks and tangerines, while Jetstorm fared a modest one-piece with swirls of lilac and baby blue; coupled with frills starting at the front waist and then trailing all the way to the back, stopping above the tail. At the compliment, the blue youngling grabbed two oil cakes from his plastic container, giving one each to the kittycons.

Rumble and Frenzy grinned broadly at the treats, taking them gladly.

"You're only spoiling them further," Ratchet growled, walking past the table. He paused only momentarily to slip a treat out of the container as well, before wandering off again.

The hybrids giggled softly at that; Jetstorm turned back to the table, returning to his task of setting up the dishes and platters for the pool party. "To have fun is are we doing today," Jetfire chirped, resting a servo gently on the back of the kittycons' back struts. "So playing are doing now, yes?"

The sparklings frowned somewhat. "There's no point until the rest of the guests arrive," Frenzy noted.

"When are they getting here anyhow?," Rumble asked. "They're all of mommy's friends, right?"

At the mention of their creator, the red twin turned to look up at the upper story windows of the mansion. "Mommy!," Frenzy shouted. "Are you coming down or not?"

There was the sound of something breaking, and then Tracks was appearing at the window; pulling his summer shawl across his bikini and attempting to smooth back his ruffled fur. "I-i'll be down shortly, dears," he called. "I just need to finish something..."

"Can't you two wait until evening, like regular 'bots!," Ratchet snapped. The vet was sitting in a lawn chair now, datapad spread out on his lap.

"I wouldn't be talking if I were you," Tracks sniffed haughtily, cheekplates tinged slightly with a blush. "I'm not the only one being a little mischievous during work hours."

"Just what are you...," the labrador started suspiciously. He was cut off from his question by an orange blur sneaking up behind him and pouncing on the older mech. Gasping in surprise, Ratchet squirmed in his seat as Jetfire moved around and curled in his lap, nuzzling the autodog.

"Slagging younglings...," Ratchet grumbled lowly. He did not push the hybrid off of him though.

Well this party was off to a great start... Rumble and Frenzy sighed, turning away from the older mechs and their blatant flirting. The sparklings gathered themselves and jumped into the pool. Anything to get away from the silliness of their watchers.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Dada! Dada I want that one!"

Soundwave paused in his stride, turning back to see what his son was talking about. Frenzy had his fingers pressed to the glass, up on his little pedes as he tried to get a clearer view of the displays behind the store window. Rumble -chewing on his pacifier, that they had not yet been able to get the sparkling to part with- stood beside his brother silently. The persian came up behind the twins, looking into the window as well.

"Inquiry: what are you gesturing at?," the older mech asked.

Frenzy pouted, patting the window hard with his servo. "That one dada! I want that one," the sparkling repeated, gesturing to the line of plump dolls. "The purple bunny!"

Soundwave tried not to sigh. "Frenzy: doll is not needed," the persian told his son. "Order: come along now."

"No!," the red twin protested. "I want bunny!"

"Stupid," Rumble mumbled, pulling the pacifier out of his mouth some. "Bunny is ugly. Mommy like puppy better."

"Rumble, Frenzy:... you want doll for... Tracks?," Soundwave mumbled in astonishment.

"Yeah, yeah," the sparklings replied in unison. "We get dolly for mommy, for his birthday. So mommy be happy!"

It _was_ going to be Tracks' birthday soon, the older kittycon noted. The fact that he had nearly forgotten was downright horrible in itself, and made being reminded by his own sons' almost ironic. Looking back up at the stuffed animals, Soundwave mulled it over quickly. "Request: accepted," the persian announced. Rumble and Frenzy cheered, bouncing after their sire as he headed inside the store. Soundwave didn't pay it too much mind. He had on his processor a stunning, 18-diamond white gold ring that he was sure Tracks would love.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ravage liked his masters.

He had been a little iffy the first time Father 'bot had brought him home and the cat had been thrust into the two younger masters' care. They were after all, strange and volatile creatures, causing all sorts of mayhem and obscene scenarios to befall everyone around them. Ravage had sympathized with Mother and Father 'bot much during the aftermath of such occasions; still, he preferred spending his nights with SilverWing and BlackWing in Father 'bot's office. The young masters did not care to trod in there... yet.

But eventually, the little kittycons grew on the feline and he found that he was starting to develop a certain pleasure from the chaos his masters provoked. It was good fun, Ravage realized, and despite the trouble it did incur, his masters always did take care of him. Even Father and Mother 'bot... though they would scold the cat all the same.

Curling up in berth now with his two young masters, Ravage was happy to be brought to this strange place. The hum of the kittycons' sparks were soothing to the animal's ears, and he settled down further, keeping his masters warm as they were doing for him.

Even a 'lowly feline' could tell that this was a family that loved each other very much, despite the differences they all had. They all cherished each other; they would all protect and look out for each other. Nothing could change that.

And Ravage would not have wanted it any other way.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"What a day..." Tracks collapsed on the couch, feeling cables stiffen in his neck even as he groaned tiredly.

Soundwave, already seated, slipped an arm about his bondmate's waist, pulling the autodog closer to him. The multi-coloured mech hummed appreciatively as he was moved, his legs being pulled up onto the persian's lap, his helm resting on the other's chestplates. "Inquiry: boys put to bed?," Soundwave asked, thumbs stroking the pomeranian's thighs.

"Mmm... for real this time," Tracks sighed blissfully. "They're such a handful sometimes... refusing to go to bed..." A smile came to the autodog's lips as his optics offlined momentarily. "Remember when they were younger though?"

The kittycon could sense what the pomeranian was referring to through their bond, and he chuckled lowly at the memory file. "Correction: Hard to forget. Rumble and Frenzy reluctant to sleep. Bedtime: a mission," Soundwave replied.

"Was it ever!," Tracks laughed, onlining his optics and looking up at his bondmate. "They'd booby-trap the berthroom just after dinner, so that every time we tried to take them to their berths, we'd get wrapped up in some sort of net or get sprayed with copious amounts of some type of fluid. Then they'd race off to another corner of the house while we were distracted, and the whole thing became a sort of hide and seek mechhunt."

"Tracks: beautiful when covered in jam," the persian added, mirth evident in his vocalizer.

"I noticed you were especially 'motivated' that night," the autodog smirked, arching an optic ridge up at the kittycon. "You're quite incorrigible, you know that, right?"

Soundwave only chuckled in response. Tracks opened his mouth to say something else, before he was groaning, burying his face in his servos. He could easily tell what his bondmate was thinking through their bond, and it embarrassed him thoroughly... though there was still an amused smile tugging at the corner of his lip components. "Primus... our poor little baby saw us. And you -you didn't care! I swear you must have some exhibitionistic tendencies in you," Tracks jibed, poking at the blue mech's chestplates lightly.

"Presence: was not expected. Assumed Frenzy was asleep with his brother," the kittycon shrugged.

"Oh, I know very well what we thought," the pomeranian replied, shaking his helm as he continued to remember the events of that unfortunate night further. "The kicker wasn't him walking in on us though... it was him asking afterwards if he was allowed to play!"

"...Answer: not applicable," Soundwave said wryly. Even if those words coming out of his sparkling's mouth had been the most horrifying a parent could hear given the situation, he still couldn't help but find it a little amusing in retrospect.

Tracks laughed a little as well. "Though I suppose that wasn't the strangest thing Rumble and Frenzy have done," he hummed. "Their quest for 'poofy tails' was an interesting endeavour."

The persian actually glanced at his bondmate incredulously this time. "Result: they nearly destroyed the bathroom. Rumble and Frenzy made a chemical soup-mix out of your shampoos and mousse. Status: infuriated when you found them!," Soundwave reminded.

"I was only mad because they had been going at it for decacycles, trying to find a way to fluff their tails," the autodog sniffed. "And I was more worried about them eating the toxic broth they had made, then them making a mess of the bathroom."

The persian smiled, but did not bother to correct his bondmate. He knew Tracks had still been angry that all his precious soaps and shampoos had been thrown together in the toilet, but found it more agreeable to let the pomeranian think what he want rather than dispute him on it. "Fact: Rumble and Frenzy created a lot of mayhem," the blue mech noted. "But they have decreased the number of pranks pulled these days."

"Only because they're dead-set on making each stunt more memorable than the last...," Tracks pointed out. Sighing, the autodog nuzzled under his bondmate's chin, tracing patterns into the other's shirt idly. "My babies are really growing up...," the multi-coloured mech mumbled sadly. "Soon, they won't need me anymore."

Soundwave looked down at the quiet pomeranian, feeling his wife's emotions across their bond. Soothingly, he rubbed the small of Tracks' back, sending reassuring waves of love and desire to the other's spark. Tracks shuttered his optics sultrily, shifting so that he sat fully in the persian's lap now, facing the kittycon.

"I'll always have you though...," the autodog whispered, "...right?"

Soundwave placed his servos on the pomeranian's hips. "For eternity," he answered.

Tracks smiled at the words, and the kittycon could say it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen grace a 'bot's lip components. Gently, his bondmate removed his mouth guard before slipping his arms around his neck; leaning in slowly.

Their mouths met in a gentle, unhurried, passionate kiss that Soundwave and Tracks felt echo all the way to their sparks and back.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

There was a strange mech walking about the school.

Sparklings on their way out of the classroom, freed from their lessons for the rest of the orn, slowed down considerably as the autodog passed; stunned into awe at the older 'bot's beauty. Even teachers exiting their classrooms, or simply peering out the doorway at the noticeable silence, shuttered their optics in shock. They had never seen such a handsome mech before, and more than a few of the teachers had to quickly look away as lust spiked through them. Others, not so modest or polite, continued gazing at the passing mech; hungry optics devouring the sight of that gorgeous tail bouncing just before that fine aft.

And in the back of their processors: what was a hottie like that, doing in an elementary school?

That was the question on the femme's mind especially when the stranger came striding into her classroom, drawing a hush from all her present students. The sparklings shuttered their optics disbelievingly, several jaws open in shock and more than a few blushes coming to cheekplates. Either the autodog noticed, or he did not care, perhaps used to this sort of reaction. The latter seemed the more likely. All the same, the mech turned to the teacher, his lip components almost perked with disinterest.

"Hello," the stranger started. Primus, even his vocalizer was beautiful. "I've come for the m-"

Anything else that the autodog would have said was cut off when the femme's two resident trouble-makers came back from their cubbies, their optics lighting on the mech standing at the teacher's desk. "Mommy!," Rumble and Frenzy cried out, dashing across the room in unbelievable speeds.

Tracks immediately turned at the call, bending down some to greet his sons. "Hello dears," the autodog smiled serenely, pecking both kittycons on their cheekplates. The twins purred in return, stretching up to hug their creator and kiss him back.

"Y-you're their _c-creator?!_ ," the teacher gaped in shock.

The pomeranian straightened up, looking at the femme. "Yes, I am," he replied haughtily. "Now, I believe you had requested a meeting with one of Rumble and Frenzy's parents. I'm afraid to say that their sire is too busy at the moment, so I've come in his stead."

At the mention of the meeting, the teacher shook herself out her stupor. "Y-yes, yes, of course! L-let me just go and collect some things...," the femme stuttered distractedly, rising from her chair and hurrying over to the cupboards lining the back of classroom. Tracks didn't mind. He sat down in a spare chair before the teacher's desk, while Frenzy and Rumble pushed two smaller chairs closer.

"What's dad doing, mommy?," the blue sparkling asked, clambering up onto his seat. He immediately used the chair to get closer to his creator, snuggling into the autodog's side. Frenzy copied his brother, on Tracks' other side.

"Will he be home tonight?"

"Yes, loves," Tracks smiled, scratching the twins behind their ears. "Your father has a meeting with a very important client right now, but he'll be home later tonight."

Satisfied with the response, Rumble and Frenzy settled back down into their seats. Turning their helms, they noticed that some of their classmates were still in the room, and staring at them with wide optics. Smirking, the twins stuck their glossa out at the other sparklings before turning back front again. The others were horribly affronted by this dismissal, but turned on their pedes and left the classroom all the same; feeling oddly jealous of Rumble and Frenzy.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tracks lowered his book, looking at the feline curiously. Ravage spared a glance up at the autodog, pacing back and forth before the pomeranian again, rubbing his helm on the mech's legs. "Ravage?," Tracks started, placing his book on his lap entirely. "Is something the matter?"

The cat had been acting very oddly these past few orns, constantly seeking the autodog's attention and showering him with various displays of affection. Normally this wouldn't be such an odd sight, but considering Ravage was usually only this open and attached to the twins, Tracks felt he had the right to worry some.

At his question, the black animal came to a pause, again looking up at the mech. His red optics seemed to say something, but the message wasn't coming through entirely clear. With a put-off sigh, Ravage rested his helm in the pomeranian's lap; keeping his gaze focused on Tracks. Tracks merely sighed himself at the action, deciding that trying to decipher the cat's motives was a lost cause. After all, the feline didn't appear upset or angry or anything... just, very focused on the autodog this week.

Quietly, the multi-coloured mech reached forward, scratching at Ravage's ears. The animal purred, pressing the full weight of his frame on the front of Tracks' legs. The pomeranian didn't mind -Ravage was warm, and his heaviness wasn't all that bothersome really. It was actually, almost... comforting... to have that presence forcibly reminded of him. Being alone for a good number of cycles in an orn could make a 'bot begin to feel a little lonesome after all.

Smiling, Tracks pulled his servo back, looking at Ravage appraisingly. "How 'bout we go for a walk, hmm?," he suggested. "We can go get a little treat on the way home."

Ravage lifted his helm, seeming to almost grin. Taking that for a yes, Tracks rose to his pedes.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Soundwave onlined his optics tiredly, slowly lifting his helm.

The blue mech thought to move, to get up, because there was a lot of things he had to do still, all of which were hindered by him suddenly falling into recharge. He stopped immediately though when he noticed Tracks fast asleep by his side, helm rested on the kittycon's chestplates. The persian's arm was wrapped about the autodog's shoulders snugly, while in between them, Tracks' own arms were circled about the recharging Frenzy pressed against his chestplates.

In the crook of his other arm, Soundwave noticed, was Rumble, also out; little helm pressed against his sire's chestplates, next to his creator's. How they had gotten there, the kittycon could not recall... For a moment longer, Soundwave looked at all three mechs, before he smiled and offlined his optics again, falling back into recharge.

Whatever work he had to do could wait until morning, he surmised.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"No, dude, you can't just-"

"Ah, shut up, bro. It'll be fine, we've just gotta-"

"Rumble, Frenzy?"

The twins scrambled, shuffling all their papers together haphazardly in an attempt to hide their schematics for their next prank. As one, the younglings turned to the door, innocent smiles on their faces as they faced their parents. "Yes, mom? Dad?"

Soundwave looked at them suspiciously, but Tracks seemed almost ignorant to the overly-sweet tone of his sons. "Darlings...," the pomeranian started shakingly, "We have something to tell you."

Rumble and Frenzy felt their sparks flare nervously within their chassis. They had never heard their creator speak so anxiously, and it unnerved them as well. Worriedly, they looked to Soundwave, and then back to Tracks.

"...Is everything alright, mommy?," Frenzy asked quietly.

The autodog smiled softly, optics flaring brightly with understanding. Almost at a silent command, the persian stepped forward, resting one servo on the pomeranian's arm and the other on his stomach plating. At the touch, Tracks looked back at Soundwave, resting both of his servos on the golden one resting on his abdomen. Taking a deep intake, he turned back to the twins.

"Boys... how do you feel about being big brothers?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was too be expected really.

Tracks himself wore glasses, and as he discovered later on, Soundwave's visor was also prescription grade. Their optics were slightly weaker than most mechs, but no less better for certain. That's why, when they noticed Rumble and Frenzy squinting at the picture books during reading time, the kittycon had suggested taking both of the sparklings in for a check-up.

The optometrist concluded their theory, that the twins had inherited poor vision from their creator and sire. Well, as depressing as that might be for other parents, Soundwave and Tracks did not mind so much themselves. A pair of glasses each, and Rumble and Frenzy would be just like any other sparklings.

The shopping bit though had been a more... interesting... affair. Despite all of Tracks' initial choices, neither sparkling would put on the glasses being showed to them. In fact, they turned their olfactory sensors up at every single one, until Tracks thought he might simply storm out of the store in frustration. Leaving the twins in Soundwave's servos, the autodog had stomped off to go scour for more glasses. When he had returned, he had discovered that either Rumble or Frenzy had managed to pull of their sire's visor and were now passing it back and forth between themselves.

"Request: Help...," Soundwave begged, trying to keep a firm hold on his sons while they squirmed in his servos. His optics were half-shuttered as he attempted to focus on his surroundings without his visor on.

"Well, I suppose that settles it...," Tracks mused, coming to his bondmate's rescue. He took Rumble out of the persian's arms, cradling the sparkling close as he removed the too-large visor off of the little kittycon's face. The adorable expression of confusion the blue twin wore made the pomeranian coo, even as he turned and slid the visor back into place on Soundwave's face.

Kissing his now-able-to-see bondmate, Tracks turned to the clerk standing patiently behind the counter. "So... Do you make custom glasses?," the autodog asked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Lemme see, lemme see!"

"Stop pushing, you jerk!"

"You stop pushing!"

"No, you! I swear if you shove me again, I'm gonna-"

"Warning: _stop right now_ ," Soundwave growled, turning to the twins. Rumble and Frenzy halted in their struggling, looking at their sire with an expression akin to disbelief. They had never heard that tone used towards them, and understandably, it frightened them slightly. Sulking, the younglings separated, standing at least two feet away from each other.

"Just wanted to see her...," Frenzy grumbled under his intakes.

The persian sent another glare to his sons, but did not reply. Tracks chuckled lightly at the situation, shifting slightly in berth so he could get closer to his bondmate. Gently, he tapped the kittycon's shoulder plating, before quickly depositing their bornling into the other's unsuspecting arms. Soundwave's optics widened comically behind his visor as he looked down at the tiny bundle in his servos, almost overwhelmed by her miniscule frame.

"She's so small," Rumble breathed, peering around his sire's arm. Frenzy peeked in from the other side, equally as stunned as the other two kittycons.

"Our lil' baby sister...," the red youngling murmured. His gaze softened as he continued to stare at the tiny femme.

Tracks smiled, looking over his beloved mechs. It was amazing to see all three tough, strong kittycons practically melt at the sight of the little femme; a particularly touched expression coming to Soundwave's face as he continued his study of his daughter. "Her name will be Flipsides," the pomeranian announced quietly. The twins raised their helms slightly at the declaration, but the persian did not.

He was the first to notice the bornling's optics ease open slowly, the gorgeous ruby optics staring up at him as a cooing smile came to the femme's lip components. At her breathy, little greeting, all attention was returned to the new kittycon. All except one...

Tracks was still looking at Soundwave, glancing only momentarily at his daughter, before returning his attention to the blue mech. What he saw, made his smile grow just a little more, and his spark whirl with love and joy. She was going to be her daddy's favourite; he could already see it in the persian's optics.


	9. Inferno and Red Alert

**Title: Inferno and Red Alert**   
**Rating: T**

To his horror, his parents decided to move them out to the country.

"Noooo! I don't like it here! Help! Let me ooooooooout!"

"Would you stop kicking the car door! Fraggit, you're loud!"

"Sideswipe!"

Yuss was supposed to be a nice, quiet town. It was really the middle of nowhere, if someone had to pick a way to describe it, but it was filled with several dozen autodogs -all friendly and good-natured folk. Just the kind of environment the psychiatrist said their son needed.

"I-it's... it's soooo open! Ahh! Where's the walls!? Where's the traffic, the noise, the cut-throat gangsters hidden in the alleyway?!"

"Honey, there's no such thing here. It's all-"

"LIES! They're all hiding in the cornstalks, waiting to murder me! HELP!"

"Told you this idea sucked aft..."

"SIDESWIPE!"

Deciding that Red Alert's paranoia was becoming too much living in the city, his parents decided to pack up their home and things and drive all the way out to this scrawny, little town, surrounded by corn and wheat and cows on every front. They hoped it would calm him down. The fit he threw on the orn they moved in suggested otherwise so far...

"Stop picking on your brother!"

"Why should I?! It's because of him that we had to move! Now I can't go to the skating park after school, the local burger joint, see my friends..."

"...y-you're just angry because you can't see Cheetor anymore..."

"SHUT UP!"

"...this is going to be a long day..."

But despite how much he might have protested, his parents made it clear to Red Alert (and Sideswipe) that they were staying in Yuss and that was final. The youngling immediately set to rocking on the porch of their new home, staring out in mute horror at the farmers' fields around them; ears perked in fright and on the verge of another panic attack, while his family went about unloading their boxes from the truck.

**xxXxXxx**

"S-so... this is it..."

"Our new, crappy school."

Sideswipe and Red Alert stood beside each other, staring up at their new school with mixed expressions of horror and annoyance.

"Well..."

"Well what?," the other doberman asked, shifting his knapsack testily. "We've gotta go inside and find the office for this slagging place and then head on over to our slagging classes. There's nothing else to do... not in this fragging aft of a town."

Red Alert frowned a little, uncomfortable with his brother's swearing. "Mom said you should stop swearing so much...," he pointed out.

"And mom says you should stop thinking everybody's out to kill you," Sideswipe retorted. "Come on," he huffed, taking a step for the building, "Let's get this slag over with so I can get back home and on the web. I've got newbs to fry."

Red Alert scrambled after the other's heels, gripping his knapsack straps tightly as they walked through the doors. The sight of the long and clean hallways got him to start hyperventilating, his intakes coming in shorter and shorter bursts. A smack upside the helm had him choking before his breathing evened out into normal again.

"Would you stop that?," Sideswipe hissed as they approached the office. "You're going to make everyone think you're a freak and then I'm gonna have to deal with all the bullslag from your bullies again!"

"S-sorry!," the smaller mech squeaked as he was pulled into the office. The other autodog ignored him as they stepped up to the secretary's desk, leaning against it and smirking cockily at the femme behind. She did not look impressed.

"And you are...?"

"Hello," Sideswipe grinned, "We're the new students. I'm the devilishly handsome Sideswipe..." He trailed off, before jabbing a thumb in the other mech's direction. "And that's Red Alert."

The secretary said nothing as she turned to her computer, typing the keys and yanking the two sheets that spat out of the printer at her side. "There you go," she informed flatly, "Your schedules. One of you is starting in Home Ec and the other in Biology. Your names are on top of the sheets."

"Y-you mean...," the smaller autodog tittered anxiously, "W-we're not g-going to b-be together?!" Both the femme and Sideswipe gave Red Alert a dry look.

"Thanks, gorgeous," the other doberman purred as he swiped the schedules from the secretary's servos. "See you around!" The femme rolled her optical sensors and returned to her magazine.

"Si-sideswipe! Sideswipe, t-they can't just-" Red Alert tugged viciously on his brother's sleeve as the other mech steered him out into the hallway again, ears drooped and optics almost white with fright. "I m-mean, m-my condition- Mo-momma s-said-!"

Sideswipe shook the smaller autodog off easily, frowning at him irritably. "Yeah, well, Mom can't control the school board, Red. Now...," he continued, shoving Red Alert's schedule into his servos, "Would you calm down? This place is fragging dull and boring -nothing bad's gonna happen here. And even if it does, I'm only going to be a couple classrooms away. This hick town's not exactly big or anything..."

"B-but..." Red Alert looked up at the black mech pleadingly, but only was met with a firm shake of Sideswipe's helm. Sighing, the shorter doberman padded off, smoothing out his schedule and trying to locate where his first period class was going to be.

**xxXxXxx**

Whoever decided Home Ec would be a good class for him, obviously wasn't thinking.

Especially not when roaring flames was the the first thing Red Alert saw when opening the door. Shrieking in fright, the doberman tried to flee but slipped instead on something wet coating the floor, taking a slide further into the room of the pit, and into something hard. "INFERNO!," a teacher's voice screamed over the din in the terrified autodog's own helm.

"S-sorry, sir! Jus', gotta... one more se- Aha! 'ere!" The flames started to subdue and the smoke was waved away quickly, until neither were a problem anymore. Coughing as some was blown in his direction, Red Alert tried to sit up and found the task to be a little difficult.

"O-ow..." Oh no... it felt like his ankle had gotten twisted!

"W-wha...? Oh! Sorry, mech, Aye didn't see ya 'ere! Are ya alright?" A sharp blade shined as it lowered towards Red Alert, throwing the autodog into a greater panic than the one he was already experiencing.

"P-please! D-don't kill me!," he screamed, turning and trying to leap away from the insane knife-wielder. His attacker shuttered his optics in surprise, quickly putting the knife down and raising both servos, to show that he was unarmed to the panicked mech.

"Look... Aye ain't got it no more. Aye ain't gonna hurt ya...," he tried to soothe, ears drooping a bit as Red Alert adamantly continued trying to crawl away from him. The other students in the classroom looked over their tables and stoves perplexed; one or two leaning over to their lab partners to whisper something snide. The teacher, wiping ash onto his stained apron, looked down on the troubled youngling with an air of indifference, sighing.

"I suppose you must be the new boy, Red Alert. I guess a 'welcome' is in order..."

"U-umm, r-really...," the strange student was still trying to speak to Red Alert, even lowering down onto his knees so he wouldn't seem so intimidating. "Y-ya shouldn't c-crawl 'round on the floor... Aye ain't g-gonna c-cook no more an' Aye p-put 'ot the fire, s-so..."

The doberman gave an audio-splitting shriek as a black servo came reaching for him, attempting to spring up and bolt away, when his twisted ankle proved traitorous and sent Red Alert crashing into the nearest counter. Processor spinning at the helm collision, the youngling slumped to the floor, weakly whimpering.

"Inferno!"

"S-sir! A-aye, aye swear Aye d-didn't m-mean t-ta-!"

"Just get him to the infirmary, please! And while you're at it- stay there!"

The younger mech cringed a little bit at the order, before nodding and mumbling a 'yes, sir'; cautiously approaching the dazed Red Alert and picking the smaller 'bot up. "It's alright," he whispered kindly to him as he walked out the classroom door. Red Alert frowned a little, not understanding a single thing going on. "Aye'm j-jus' gonna take ya ta the infirm'ry an' the nurse'll fix ya up real good. Sorry 'gain 'bout the scare..."

The doberman only had a moment to realize that he was being apologized too, before he blacked out.

**xxXxXxx**

"Miss Glyph, Aye... Aye I had an accid'nt in Home Ec 'g-gain!" The german shepherd kicked open the door in a slight panic, stumbling inside, the unconscious autodog still in his arms. He whined though when he saw that the school nurse was nowhere in sight.

"Oops...," Inferno mumbled, glancing behind him, "Door mus' have been lock'd..." Tearing his optics away from the cracked door frame, the taller autodog hurried across the medical room, gently setting the new-comer down on the berth.

"Ahh, niblets. What am Aye gonna do?" The youngling wrung his servos together nervously as he fussed, looking about the room. "Aye gotta do somethin'. Aye'm the one who hurt the poor fella..." Glancing again at Red Alert, Inferno sighed, before straightening up determinedly and rifling through the cupboards. He was pulling out gauze, cotton swabs, a bottle of Isopropyl alcohol and medical tape from one of the drawers when he heard the small groan from behind him.

"W...what happened...?"

"O-oh, 'ey! Yer awake!," Inferno barked excitedly, whirling around, arms full of his finds. "'Ow are ya feelin'?"

That... might not have been the smartest thing to say. The groggy doberman went from lethargic and slow, to plastering himself against the wall, breathing heavily and erratically, in under astroseconds. Seeing the shaking, whimpering youngling made Inferno's ears droop contritely, and he hurried to put his load down on the nurse's desk.

"L-look, Aye'm s-sorry 'bout scarin' ya back in 'Ome Ec," he assured softly, servos lifted at a safe height; palms open and turned to the ceiling. "Aye didn't mean ta do s-so... A-aye 'ope ya'll forgive meh. Um... y-ya hurt? A-anythin' b-bruisin' o' a-achin'?" He kept his tone soft, slow, and always maintained optic contact. Just like when he was dealing with frazzled cattle, the smaller youngling slowly began to relax; peeling away from the wall and sinking back onto his seat cautiously.

Inferno kept his distance, smiling kindly still, but he took a step forward as soon as the doberman went to slide off the berth. "O-oww...," Red Alert whimpered as he applied weight to his ankle, making it twist under him.

"W-wait now! Don't m-move." The german shepherd crossed the room in three, long strides, gently grasping the other mech by the arms and lifting him back onto the berth. Red Alert whimpered at the unexpected action, flailing wildly.

"S-stop! I'll scream!," he yelled desperately, "I-i'll scratch out your optics! I can! I can do th-that!" He tried to kick at Inferno, to make the taller youngling back away, and only ended up slamming his twisted ankle against the other's thigh.

Inferno jolted as the thin mech yipped in pain, freezing up entirely. Taking a step back, he grabbed the nurse's chair and pulled it up; plopping his bottom onto it as he gently grabbed the smaller autodog's heel. "Ah... ya twist'd it somethin' fierce...," he mumbled, rolling up the pant leg a bit, so he could better inspect the scuffed plating. He smiled apologetically up at the quiet doberman staring down at him.

"Lemme jus' git ya some wraps an' we'll fix ya up nicely." He lowered the pede back beside its twin, before getting up and crossing the room again. He had seen wraps earlier, but had brushed by them, not thinking they were needed. Now he just had to remember which drawer they were in...

"Aha!," he beamed excitedly, having found them again, "Aye got-"

"RED ALERT!" The german shepherd was cut off by the shout, as another doberman came barreling into the room; servos curled into fists and a concerned grimace on his white faceplates. His optics first lighted on the squeaking doberman, before they turned and narrowed at Inferno.

"And who the slag are you?," he growled, hackles rising.

Inferno shuttered his optics quickly at the sudden aggression, scowling slightly at the other's rudeness. "Aye'm Inf-"

"Ah, shut it!," the black mech snarled. "I don't give two frags who you are. Get out!"

"W-what?! Listen, Aye-"

"I said SCRAM, country hick!" Inferno wasn't the type to usually back down, but when the other youngling took a threatening step towards him, he glanced quickly at the shivering mech on the berth; servos cupped about his face anxiously and little whimpers of fear escaping from between his fingers.

Now, the german shepherd was forced to admit, was not the time or place to get into a fight with some stranger.

Inferno put the wrap on the counter, turning and walking from the room quickly. The black doberman refused to move for him, and purposefully clipped his shoulder as the bigger mech left. Concerned about his smaller classmate, Inferno glanced behind him as he walked through the doorway, but he only glimpsed Red Alert before the office door was slamming in his face.

Servos curling into fists, he forced himself to turn away.

**xxXxXxx**

"Can't believe you spazzed out not even five kliks into your class..."

Red Alert sat absolutely still, cringing as Sideswipe angrily wrapped his ankle.

"Caused a fragging scene... Got everyone talking already..."

Keeping his noise down to a bare minimum, he did not comment or otherwise protest to his brother's wide use of cursing as he grumbled and muttered to himself. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the other doberman was upset.

Cursing again, Sideswipe pulled the wrap tight, making the smaller youngling whimper slightly as it became too tight, hurting his ankle further. At the sound, the black autodog paused, glancing up at Red Alert.

"...ah, frag, Red," he sighed softly, irritation noticeably less in his vocalizer. Sideswipe turned his helm back down, gently undoing the bandage and starting again from the beginning. "Listen, I'm not... mad... at you, per say, I'm just... Slaggit, you know I'm ticked off! I can't protect you if you're always letting your fears get the better of you, Red!"

At the statement, the red and white mech shook, sniffling as he tried to hold back tears. "I-i-i know, 'S-sides, but I-i..."

Sideswipe's ears lowered an inch guiltily, and he quickly fixed his brother's wrap, before getting to his pedes. "Come on, now...," he hushed gently, sitting on the berth beside Red Alert; rubbing his arm slowly in a half-hug. "Don't cry 'Red... Sunny wouldn't want you too. If he was here, what... w-what would he do, huh?"

At the name, the smaller doberman sobbed loudly, pulling his knees up to his chestplates as he buried his face from view. The black youngling startled at the unexpected reaction, desperately trying to cajole his brother out of his self-made shell.

"I-i'm sorry, Red! I should have-"

"H-he le-left me, S-sideswipe!," Red Alert wailed through his knees. "I-i-i m-made him s-so mad th-that he d-decided he w-wanted to l-leave a-and that's w-why he went! B-because I-i'm a n-no-good c-crybaby a-and a fre-freak! S-sunstreaker d-didn't w-want a b-brother like m-me, he d-didn't-"

Sideswipe grabbed the other autodog's arm, yanking him up and out of crying, staring down at the whimpering youngling sternly. "Now you listen here, Red, and you listen good," he said, vocalizer catching, "S-sunstreaker never left you! He loved you, just as I love you, and Mom loves you, and Dad loves you... H-he... He just made a mistake, th-that's all. He would have never done anything to take him away from us, nor you. You understand?"

Slowly, Red Alert nodded.

"...good," the black mech vented, wiping at his brother's tears. He didn't mind it at all, when Red Alert nuzzled into his servo shyly, before resting his helm on his shoulder; fingers clasped tightly around his arm. It was a safety thing he used to do when they were sparklings and he got scared. He would cling to either Sideswipe or his other brother, Sunstreaker, until the terrors had been soothed away.

Unfortunately, Red Alert's terrors had been much, much worse since Sunstreaker had left their lives.

"...'S-sides...," a soft vocalizer whispered.

"Yea, Red?"

"D...do you think Sunny will ever come back?"

Sideswipe smiled sadly. "Yeah, of course he will. He's our brother -our triplet. He's gotta come home to us one day. They can't keep him away forever, you know."

Red Alert nuzzled closer, shoulders slumping tiredly. "...I f-freaked out in class...," he confessed quietly. "I... I don't t-think a-anyone will b-be my friend now..."

The other youngling stayed silent for a long moment at that, before he cycled a heavy intake. "Well... If they don't want to be your friends, then, well," Sideswipe mumbled uncertainly, "You don't need people like that in your life anyways. I promise you though, Red, I won't let anyone hurt you. I've got your back, you always know that."

Again, the smaller doberman snuggled closer. Rolling his optical sensors, his brother decided to let him stay like that until the school bell rang over their helms, startling Red Alert for an astrosecond. "Alright," he said, shoving the white autodog off. "I've got Math and I'm fairly sure you've got a History class to get to."

"B-but-"

"No, buts Red," Sideswipe frowned. "And try not to spazz again, okay? Mom's gonna worry enough when she finds out you twisted your ankle."

Sighing at that truth, Red Alert reluctantly slid off the berth, doing his best to keep his weight off of his injured pede. His brother helped him to the door, but as soon as they were out in the hallway, Sideswipe bid him farewell and disappeared into the rapidly growing crowd. Trying to shake off the paranoid thoughts already creeping in, Red Alert hobbled onto his next class.


	10. Soundwave and Tracks V

**Title: Soundwave and Tracks V**   
**Rating: T**

Tracks stared at the creature unnervingly, fighting the urge to tear his daughter away from it.

"What...," he started slowly, sparing a quick glance to his bondmate. "Is this?"

The persian was looking overtly content as he watched Flipsides snuggle into the ape's side, her little mews echoing loudly as she attempted to climb the larger mammal. "Status: present," was all Soundwave said.

Tracks frowned, his cheekplates tinged with embarrassment. It sounded like the kittycon was laughing at him slightly, which might have been very possible considering the fact that the autodog had literally jumped when he'd walked into the room, seeing that strange animal staring up at him. "Don't you think, it's, umm... t-too soon for Flipside to be having a pet?," he asked, still resisting the voice demanding he save his delicate sparkling from the hulking beast.

Considering the ape hadn't yet taken any action whatsoever toward the small kittycon, one could only assume he was safe.

Soundwave looked at the pomeranian, appearing utterly perplexed. "Fact: had Lazerbeak since sparkling years. Time: insignificant. Inquiry: is... is this a problem?"

The multi-coloured mech shifted uneasily at the question, ears pressing against his helm. "Well, no...," he answered slowly. Really, it wasn't such a bad idea for Flipsides to have a pet, and Tracks knew that her sire would spoil her rotten, but an ape?! Such a wild pet was too much for a 'bot Flipside's age! Why couldn't the persian have gotten her a goldfish, or something else just as small and less dangerous?

But Tracks wasn't about to say any of that. Not when Soundwave was practically giddy with joy at their daughter's happiness. Sighing, the pomeranian merely shook his helm, ignoring his instincts and turning away from the trio. "I'm going to go get something to eat," he said, though he was sure that none of them were listening. Tracks quickly left the room, hearing his sons' excited cries when they entered the living room a klik later, seeing the new pet Soundwave had brought home.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Did she...?"

"I swear she just did!"

Rumble and Frenzy didn't know what to think.

They loved their baby sister, it was true, and they enjoyed doting on her just as much as their sire did. In fact, the twins spent a fair amount of time playing, singing or taking Flipsides around the place that Tracks often had to come and order them to stop neglecting their chores and homework. They'd oblige, but hurry through their tasks, just so they could get back to their newest sibling as soon as possible.

But then, the younglings had started to notice something.

Flipsides was evil!

If they left her in her playpen alone for a moment, when they came back to the room, something was broken on the floor, but Flipsides sat innocently in her playpen still.

If they left food unattended even for an astrosecond, when they turned around to get it next, it was gone. Money and various other items had a habit of disappearing as well when Flipsides was in the room. Rumble and Frenzy thought that their smallest sibling was hiding them somewhere, but they couldn't figure out where exactly. And the how- just how was this tiny kittycon, who still crawled and babbled nonsensically, able to pull off these heists so quickly and silently?!

Of course, mentioning this to their creators didn't help. Tracks only gave them dry looks before returning to his magazine, and Soundwave almost glared at them the one time they even mentioned that his little femme was a pit-spawn in disguise.

If they wanted anyone to believe them, Rumble and Frenzy knew that they were going to have to get the evidence on their own.

The two kittycons set up a complex and detailed trap in the living room after school, setting a camera on the cabinet shelf across the room, facing Flipsides' playpen. Once everything was set, and they were sure their parents would not be coming into the living room anytime soon, Rumble and Frenzy went to go collect their little sister. They set her in the playpen as usual, sparing fifteen minutes to play with her, so as not to arouse the mini tyrant's suspicion.

"Oh, would you look at that!," Rumble commented after the allotted time had passed. He lifted his wrist to his face, pretending to glance at his watch. "Wow, bro! It's later than I thought. We've got to go get started on that project, or we'll never finish it before bed tonight."

"You're right!," Frenzy piped up, playing along. "Let's go get mom so he can watch Flippers here while we go get our homework started."

The twins rose, the blue youngling pressing the remote in his pocket and turning the video camera on. Once they saw its little red light flash on from high up on the shelf, then both mechs left the room. They padded down the hall, stopping a safe distance and waiting for the inevitable to happen. One klik passed, then two; three, five, ten kliks... Still, there was no sound of their trap being sprung. In fact, there was no noise whatsoever coming from the living room. Worried now, Rumble and Frenzy rushed back to the living room.

"Flipper!," they cried. "Flips, you okay?!"

"Oh, sla-" Rumble choked, trying to stop. He stepped on the little wagon that had strangely been put in his path and went skidding across the room. Frenzy, who was right behind his brother at the time, was grabbed and pulled to the floor, his chin smacking hard as he collided with the ground. He lifted his helm just in time to see the other twin slam into the t.v stand, the wall mounted monitor shaken loose and crashing on top of Rumble.

"Bro?!"

Little giggles met their ears. Both helms turned to see Flipsides standing up in her playpen, one tiny servo wrapped around the bar for balance. The other though was holding a clear, thin wire as she stared right at them.

"I-is that...?," Frenzy swallowed sharply.

"Oh, slag," Rumble hissed lowly, forgetting in his horror that he wasn't supposed to swear around the sparkling.

With an innocent smile, Flipsides gave the wire a good, hard yank, setting off the twins' trap. Which, by some strange phenomenon had been moved as well! A giant water balloon rolled out from behind the ceiling lamp, dropping on the ground right between the two mechs. It exploded with a loud 'splat', drenching the pair in a tidal wave of cold water.

"W-why you-!," Frenzy growled, scrambling to get up.

"What is going on here?!" The sudden demand startled the twins, who froze as they were; helms nervously turning to the doorway.

"H-hi mommy," Rumble and Frenzy greeted sheepishly.

Tracks looked at the two younglings -both drenched, with Rumble squirming uselessly beneath the t.v- and felt his expression pull into a scowl. "Look at this mess! Honestly, how many times have I told you two: keep your pranks and your wild games outside of the house! What if you had hurt Flipsides?"

"B-but, it's not our fault!," Frenzy protested

"Yeah!," agreed his brother. "It was Flipsides, mom! She was the one who sprung the trap. Look at the camera -it'll show you! Flipsides is the one who did this, not us!"

The pomeranian did not look amused. "Now you're blaming your sister -your little, sparkling sister- for your pranks?!"

"Please, just look at the camera, mom," they begged. "We had it recording everything!"

Now free of the t.v, Rumble and Frenzy collected the camera off of the top shelf, bringing it to Tracks. The autodog sniffed as he took the device from their wet servos, rewinding the footage and pressing play. The camera's screen lit up and... the twins felt their triumphant grins fall and their ears droop in horror. The footage that they thought they'd finally caught of their sister and her sinister deeds wasn't there. Instead, the camera only showed Flipsides playing by her lonesome in her pen.

"Well, now I've seen it all," Tracks said, sighing exasperatedly as he handed back the camera to his sons. "Apparently, watching Flipsides is too much of a chore for you to handle. Well, from now on, you won't have to do so. Rumble, Frenzy, clean up this mess, and you can explain to your father tonight why you are grounded from video games and the computer for a week."

"But mommy!," they whined. The pomeranian merely shook his helm, waving them off.

"Go on -get to it," he ordered. "I'll be back in a moment for your sister." And then he left the room.

Happy sparkling babbling met their ears. Slowly, the twins turned around, staring at their sister. Flipsides was standing up again, her lip components turned wide with her mischievous grin. "You...," the red one started in disbelief.

"You're amazing," Rumble finished breathlessly. "A true master."

"Primus, you're a goddess of trouble!," Frenzy added in awe.

Flipsides mewed back sweetly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Having another sparkling made Tracks ever so happy. He was just beginning to miss the old orns when he could coo and giggle at a bornling, bathe and dress them, and just cuddle those tiny frames close to his own chassis. So, of course, when Flipsides was born, the pomeranian couldn't help but to be ecstatic to a point. He didn't even mind that he would be vying for his mate's attention from time to time.

That of course was before he realized just how drastic Soundwave was going to be now that Flipsides was around.

"Good morning," Tracks greeted one morning. As per routine, he walked up to the kittycon, melting into his side and leaning up to kiss the other's cheekvent. Soundwave though pushed him away a little, refusing the autodog his morning peck. Well, Tracks shuttered his optics stupidly at the unexpected rejection, staring up at his bondmate perplexed.

"Status: Flipsides is present," the blue mech supplied.

The pomeranian turned his helm, and sure enough, their daughter was sitting in her highchair, playing with her breakfast. But she wasn't watching them or anything, and what difference did it make if Tracks gave Soundwave a kiss or not? They were after all bondmates, and seeing her parents exchange various signs of affection was something that Flipsides would eventually become accustomed to. Before the multi-coloured mech even had a chance to comment on this though, the persian was pulling away from him, heading to their sparkling and sitting down in front of her.

Hit with a sudden pang of irrational jealousy, Tracks quickly turned and stormed from the room.

If he had thought that this behaviour would lessen over time, Tracks was sorely mistaken. It was quite the opposite actually; Soundwave's over-protectiveness seemed to triple, and that left the autodog feeling oddly... snubbed. The kittycon had hardly touched him or even whispered lovely things into his ear since they brought Flipsides home, and aside from the sense of loneliness he was beginning to feel, well... to put it simply, Tracks was getting desperate! He'd never gone so long before without Soundwave making a pass at him. It was horrible!

It was time, the pomeranian thought, for an intervention.

"Hello Soundwave. How is my Big Boy doing?"

The kittycon lifted his helm a little, glancing quickly at his bondmate walking through the doorway. "Status: good. Inquiry: Flipsides, are you good?" The tiny femme on his lap babbled away incoherently, waving her arms up at her sire. Soundwave beamed back, bouncing her lightly.

Tracks kept the smile on his face, even though he honestly felt like pouting. "Well, I'm glad to hear it and all, but," he patted his sons' helms, gesturing for them to do their part, "I do believe it's time for Flipsides' walk."

Soundwave's visor winked as he shuttered his optics quickly behind it, unable to comprehend the fact that his daughter had just been swiped straight from his servos. "Come on, Flippers," Rumble cooed to the sparkling, nuzzling her little helm. Flipsides mewled back merrily, returning her brother's affection. "Let's go for your walk, yeah?"

"It'll be a lot of fun," Frenzy added, peeking over his twin's shoulder as they headed for the door. "And we'll let mom and dad have some alone time in the meanwhile."

"Request: wait!," Soundwave started, getting up from the couch. Tracks intercepted him though before he could get very far, pushing him back down again.

"Oh, no, no, no, Big Boy," the pomeranian husked, running his servos down his bondmate's chestplates as he slid onto the other's lap. He was almost annoyed to see the blue mech look up at him in bewilderment. "Your daughter will be fine with her brothers, but right now, there's someone else you must tend to first."

Tracks, seeing that the kittycon was still in a state of semi-shock, undid his pants, grabbing Soundwave's servos and slipping them under the hem. He coaxed the golden digits to curl around his aft, retracting his codpiece and letting the first drops of lubricant moisten the persian's fingertips. "I...I've been so patient, darling," the autodog whined lowly, grinding into his mate's lap, "B-but, you haven't spared me a s-single thought since Flipsides was born. D-do you not love me anymore?"

Finally, a reaction! Soundwave swallowed audibly, tightening his grip on Tracks and pulling their frames flush together. The multi-coloured mech moaned softly at the warm press of the other's chassis, winding his arms around the persian's neck. "P-please...," he begged seductively, keeping his optics locked with the kittycon's. "O-oh, please... I-i need you s-so badly, m-my love."

The blue 'bot growled lustfully, flipping them over so now Tracks was pressed into the couch and he was straddling the autodog. They wasted no more time getting out of their clothes, connecting in a desperate, wanting rush; finishing not too long after. Appeased, in spark and frame, Tracks snuggled into Soundwave, fingers tracing abstract patterns onto the other's chestplates. "Mmmm... I bet this means you won't be neglecting me again anytime soon," the pomeranian hummed smugly, already sensing his bondmate preparing for another round.

His only response was the kittycon's purr.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, it looks as if the boys have managed to at least pass everything," Tracks sighed, looking at Rumble and Frenzy's midterm report cards. He grabbed his cup of oil, circling around the kitchen counter and seating himself right beside Soundwave. The kittycon wrapped an arm about his waist, pulling him a little closer; his own attention fixed on Flipsides' grades.

"Status: Good."

The pomeranian nodded his helm, sipping at his drink. "Oh, it's very good," he said, "Considering they were almost failing before. As long as they don't end up repeating any courses, they might just graduate along with their classmates." Setting down the report cards, Tracks turned his helm to look at his bondmate, who had gone significantly quiet after his initial comment. "Love?," the autodog asked, using his free servo to rub behind the persian's ear. "Is everything alright?"

Soundwave started slightly at the concerned question. "Affirmative. Status:... just thinking. Inquiry: Would you mind if changes were made to our will?"

"Hmmm... changes? What kind of changes, hun?" The kittycon turned his helm to Tracks, pushing Flipsides' report card towards him. He watched as the multi-coloured mech picked up the papers, looking them over, a look of astonishment coming over his face. In disbelief, Tracks set down the sheets, picking them up again and scanning through the report card a second time.

"Amazing...," he mumbled breathlessly. "Perfect grades... all the way through..."

"Affirmative," the persian piped up. "Thoughts: ...would like to give the company to Flipsides after retirement. Inquiry: Would... would that be acceptable?"

The pomeranian glanced up at his bondmate, optic ridge cocked in amusement. "That happy to see that at least one of your offspring are academic geniuses?" Soundwave's cheekvents tinged pink, ears flattening slightly in embarrassment. The sight made Tracks chuckle lowly. "That's fine love," he replied, leaning forward and giving the blue mech a peck. "I don't think your sons will mind if you leave the company to Flipsides. After all, you're already giving them the mansion and all of your cars."

"But," the autodog interjected, "Don't try and preen her into being a businessfemme. We have to allow her to choose her own path in life, okay?"

Soundwave nodded his helm. "Fact: will not force her to run company. Status: know she will make wise decisions toward it, no matter what career she chooses," he answered. At Tracks' knowing smile, the kittycon grabbed his bondmate, pulling him into his lap and nuzzling his neck cables. The other mech giggled again, returning the affection being poured on him.

"My big, happy daddy," Tracks cooed, planting sweet kisses on the persian's mouth guard.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shockblast was nervous.

"U-umm... h-hey guys," he greeted Rumble and Frenzy, slowly backing against the lockers. "Wh-what's up?"

The twins closed in on their best friend, arms crossed over their chestplates and lip components flattened in a tight frown. "Well, we've gotta couple things to discuss, dude," they said. "In regards to our dearest, little sister..."

"You've been making moves on her, Shockblast?," Rumble started threateningly.

"You know, Flipsides is at least eleven years younger than us...," Frenzy continued icily. "Very young indeed... it wouldn't be right for you to be messing around with such a sparkling."

"I-i-i-i... I swear I haven't done anything!," Shockblast squeaked in protest. "I mean, she came onto me first! Please don't kill me!"

The taller kittycon cringed, holding his textbooks in front of him as a shield. The other two mechs looked at each other, before twin, wicked grins showed up on their faces. When they started laughing is when Shockblast started praying to any deity above to spare him from his gruesome ending. Or at least make it a quick and painless one.

"Dude," Frenzy chuckled, slinking forward and wrapping an arm about his friend's shoulder plating. "We're just kidding!"

"Yeah. We know you wouldn't do anything like that to our sister," Rumble added, pinching good-naturedly at the tabby's ear. "You're a good mech like that, Shocky. Very smart and gentlemech like."

Shockblast slowly lowered his shield, smiling anxiously at the twins. "T-thank you guys, f-for being so understanding. A-and I swear, I'll never lay a servo on Flipsides!," he added hastily. "N-not that I want to or anything!"

"Of course not," Rumble and Frenzy purred back, smiles growing. "Because we would break every pipe in your frame otherwise."

The poor tabby gulped.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Well, well, well... Don't you two look absolutely lovely."

Flipsides turned at the lustful drawl, frowning up at the bigger autodog looming over herself and her creator. Both Beastbox and Ravage scowled, tensing where they sat at their masters' pedes, but did not move. They wouldn't do so unless it became necessary. The big autodog, oblivious to the glares and scowls, leaned in closer; his optics narrowed with his leer. "One would have to wonder why such beauties like yourself are sitting out here all alone on such a pretty day."

"We thought a walk would be nice," Tracks smiled back tersely, sitting straight-backed against the park bench. "Get a little sun for ourselves. We never thought we'd run into someone like yourself."

The stranger perked at the pomeranian's seductive tone, ignoring Ravage's warning growl and inching all that more closer. He was almost leaning entirely over the thinner mech, his tail wagging as he set a servo on the bench. Tracks looked up at him, his smile becoming all that more tense and his optics reflecting his growing ire. Yet the other autodog thought it made him all that more sexy.

"If you sexy 'bots are all done with your walk, I have a proposition for you," the mech growled, pressing in closer. With no regard for Tracks' personal bubble, he pushed his face into the pomeranian's, panting a little as his lust spiked with those plump lip components so close to his own and the heavenly scent of the multi-coloured mech filling his olfactory sensors. "How 'bout we head somewhere, the three of us, and I'll show you an even better time."

Flipsides curled her upper lip in disgust when the stranger even had the audacity to glance over at her, winking. But before she could even say a word, her creator was setting a servo on the unknown mech's chestplates, smiling at him coyly as he gently pushed the other back. "I'm afraid there's a little problem with that," Tracks replied, optics fluttering seductively. "You see... She's my daughter, and I am married."

The big autodog shuttered his optics stupidly for a moment, before plastering that idiotic smirk back on his face. "Well, you know...," he cooed.

The pomeranian though had enough. With more strength than the kittycon had ever seen her creator show before, Tracks shoved the autodog away from him entirely, gazing at the stranger coolly as he tumbled to the ground hard. With a snarl, the other mech got back up onto his pedes, facing the pair. "Listen, you greasy, little whore-"

"Ravage," Tracks cut in dully, "Sic him."

The feline leapt to his paws at the command, pouncing at the autodog, teeth snapping and infuriating roars escaping his mouth. The stranger had only astroseconds to be afraid before he was knocked to the floor, writhing and screaming as he was attacked by the animal. Flipsides stared on shocked, as her creator did nothing, just sitting there beside her still; all perfect poise and nonchalant grace. Eventually though, Tracks did make a move, getting to his pedes and gesturing for the kittycon to follow.

"Release him, Ravage," the pomeranian ordered. With one last bite and snarl, Ravage withdrew from the autodog, circling protectively around Tracks' legs. Sparing the loyal feline a pat, Tracks stepped forward, looking down upon the mauled stranger.

"Before you dare to curse me or my daughter again, I think you should be aware of a couple facts," he told the other harshly. "One: I don't sleep with mutts. And two: You better learn some manners or the next 'bot you try to force into a frag will let their pet rip your spike off for good." Turning, Tracks began to march away, Ravage padding by his side calmly.

Flipsides looked over the battered autodog herself, folding her arms over her chestplates crossly. "And I'm barely a youngling, pervert!," she snapped, before she turned and followed after the pomeranian. The little femme latched onto her creator's arm when she had gotten close enough, gazing up at the mech in awe.

"Mother," she breathed, "You were spectacular, the way you handled that nasty 'bot! He really had no right to say any of that, and I couldn't believe how close he got to you. Weren't you worried at all?"

Tracks chuckled, rubbing the kittycon's ears. "Never darling. I've always been able to take care of myself, well before I met your father," he smiled. Leaning down, he whispered to her, "But of course, I do so love getting pampered by him."

The pair giggled at the inside joke, Flipsides hugging her creator's arm tightly as she began to purr. "You'll teach me everything you know, won't you mother? I want to be as strong and fabulous as you are!"

Touched by the sincere praise, the pomeranian scratched his daughter behind her ears, planting a soft kiss on her crown. "Whatever you'd like sweetie, I'll be happy to assist you with." Ravage and Beastbox shared a half-exasperated look, before they turned their attention back to their charges.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shockblast prided himself on not being fazed or scared over much. Slag, growing up with his type of parents' and friends could make a 'bot impartial to everything.

This was definitely not one of those cases.

"U-umm, I don't t-think you should, uh..." The kittycon backed quickly into the wall, ears flattened against his helm and tail bristled at his side. The little femme before him didn't pay attention to a single thing he said, skipping all that much more closer, her delicate lip components pulled in the sweetest smile.

"I'm only being friendly though," she giggled, slipping under the mech's pitifully raised arms.

'Yeah, too friendly!', Shockblast wanted to shout. Slag, he wanted to push the smaller kittycon away entirely, but there was two problems with that option. One, the femme was just a sparkling, and two... she was Rumble and Frenzy's sister.

"Listen, y-you're just too young a-and I'm really not that inter-"

Shockblast's pathetic protests were cut off as Flipsides jumped, wrapping her arms tight around the tabby's neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheekplate. "That's okay," she replied, all sunshine and sugar still, as she dropped back down to the floor. Her persian tail twisted enticingly, brushing along the mech's legs softly as she turned away. "I'll be old enough soon. I don't mind waiting until then."

She giggled, her visor flashing in seductive mischief. "I know you'll wait for me too, Shockblast." Blowing her crush a kiss, the femme skipped away again, hurrying back down the hall to her berthroom. Her pet, Beastbox, threw the tabby a cutting glare before lumbering after his charge. Shivering, Shockblast sank to the floor, only noticing the love note that had just been slipped into his pocket as well.

"... I need to not come over here for the next little while...," he groaned to himself, dragging his claws down his face.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Daddy..."

Soundwave turned at the soft call, seeing his little femme at his door. She was dressed in her pajamas, her teddy bear clasped tightly to her chestplates with one arm. Not far behind her, followed a sleepy Beastbox. The two looked like they had recently clambered out of the berth.

"Daddy...daddy, are you bwusy?," the sparkling asked, pressing her chin into her teddy's head.

"Status: was just going over some stuff. Not important. Inquiry: is everything alright?" The persian set down his pen, spinning his chair so he could face his daughter completely. He held out his arms a few astroseconds later, when it became obvious she wasn't going to voice her thoughts.

Flipsides shuffled in place for a moment longer, before she padded over to her sire quickly, clambering up into his lap with his help. Wrapping a strong arm around her delicate frame, Soundwave leaned back into his seat, looking down at his little femme. "Inquiry: did you have a nightmare?," he asked gently, petting her puce coloured kitten ears.

She nodded back slowly but still said nothing.

"D-daddy...," she choked some time later. She was gripping the front of the older kittycon's shirt tightly, coolant pooling just under visor. Her other arm had her teddy in a strangling grip now. Both sire and pet looked on quietly, waiting for the femme to continue. "Daddy, y-you... you wo-won't ever g-go aw-away, w-wight? Y-you'll a-always c-come b-back...wi-wight?"

Soundwave's visor dimmed as he cupped his tiny daughter's cheekplate, looking her straight in the optic. "Fact: Will always return, even if I must go. Will never leave you alone," he assured.

"A-and... and mo-mommy too?," Flipsides sniffled, still tearing up.

The blue mech nodded his helm. "Correct: and mommy too. Fact: both love you very much, you'll always be our little femme. Inquiry: What has you so worried about this?"

The tiny kittycon sobbed, lifting a servo to rub at her optics underneath her visor. "W-wumble and fw-fwenzy... t-they said th-that w-when I get b-bwigger, a st-stwange mech w-will come an-and take mmm-me a-away t-to go l-live w-with him," she hiccupped, crying harder in distraught. "I-i-i, I d-don't wanna g-go away, p-pwease d-don't l-let a st-stwanger t-take me away d-daddy!"

A small smile tugged at Soundwave's concealed lip components. Gently picking up Flipsides, he held her closer to his chest, nuzzling the top of her helm. "Rumble and Frenzy: exaggerating. One day, you will meet a mech who will be your prince and you will become his princess. Only then will you go and live with him. Fact: But you will always be able to come back whenever you want. Will be here, waiting, with your mom always."

"R-rweally...?" Flipsides shuttered her optics up at him, her tears finally beginning to dry. "A pwince will come for me? And I'll be his pwincess?"

The sire nodded his helm.

A calm smile tugged at her lip components; giving a little yawn, the femme laid her helm down on her father's shoulder plating, curling up as best as he could in his arms and slipping off into peaceful recharge once more. Silently, Soundwave watched her, his ears slightly drooped against his helm. From beside his chair, Beastbox sent him a sympathetic look.

Everything he had said was true, but how the kittycon mourned that inevitable orn all the same.


	11. Wheelie

**Title: Wheelie**   
**Rating: T**

"Class, class please settle down. Really now, this is just -Oi! Who threw that eraser!?"

Rumble and Frenzy snickered lowly as their homeroom teacher tried for the umpteenth time to (unsuccessfully) calm the students down for the beginning of the orn. Of course, none of the younglings cared, too busy chatting to each other about what they did over the weekend or otherwise causing general mayhem. Eventually, their teacher just threw his servos into the air and gestured exasperatedly to the door.

"C'mon, c'mon," the mech grumbled, "Hurry up and get in here. Say your name quickly now and then grab yourself an empty seat- I need to get this class started."

In through the door scurried a tiny, orange blur. Surprisingly, the class began to quiet, all optics fixed on the little papillon that came to a stop just beside the teacher's desk. With his large, blue optics, the new youngling crossed his arms behind his backstruts; his adorable ears twitching shyly.

Frenzy stiffened in his seat, craning his neck a little to catch a better glimpse of the autodog.

"Hello, hello," began the unknown kid. His vocalizer had a strange lilt to it. "How is your day? My name is Wheelie, I say. Really happy to be here you see; so hoping you'll be kind to me. I'm new in town and would like a friend to show me around."

Absolute silence followed the youngling's greeting.

"Did... did I do something wrong?" Wheelie raised an anxious servo to his chestplates. "I hope we can still get along."

"It's alright, umm, Wheelie was it?," their teacher interjected quickly. The autodog turned his helm to the older mech. "Just take your seat for now and you can make some friends later, alright? For now, everybody else open your textbooks to page twenty-three!"

The whole classroom groaned as they slowly shuffled back into routine; Wheelie being ushered down the rows of desk and to a free seat just in the middle. While everyone else was quick to forget about the curious, little papillon, Frenzy still had his optics glued to the new student. It took him several finger snappings from his twin and one detention slip from the teacher before he could focus on the rest of the class.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Your name is Wheelie, right?

The autodog startled at the question, closing his locker and turning to face the speaker. He was surprised to see it was the black kittycon from his homeroom class. Shyly, he nodded, smiling hopefully up at the bigger mech. Maybe he wanted to be friends?

"Why do you talk like that?"

Again, Wheelie was surprised. Shuttering his optics in puzzlement, the papillon replied, "What do you mean? I'm afraid I don't quite-"

"Like that," the other youngling was quick to interrupt. Wheelie fell silent. The kittycon became quiet for an astrosecond as well, before continuing. "Why do you speak all... song-like? In rhymes and whatnot."

"I...," Wheelie answered in embarrassment. "I do not know. I have always talked like so." He turned his optics to the floor, before quickly glancing back up at the taller student. "I am sorry if it bothers you. I could try to talk more like you do. I mean, if that's what you want. I don't-"

The kittycon shook his helm. "I ain't saying anything like that," he huffed nonchalantly. "I'm just... saying, you could get teased something fierce with the weird way you're talking. Especially since you're the new kid and all."

"O-oh..." The papillon quickly dropped his helm again, holding his books tight to his chestplates. "I, um, t-thank you, I suppose. I'll try and do what you propose." His cheekplates darkening, Wheelie steeled himself to be brave enough to ask the other student's name. But when he lifted his helm, the black youngling was already walking away.

"Frenzy, move your aft!," shouted a similar looking bot from down the hall. This one though was a nice combination of lilac and blue.

"Yeah, yeah; I'm coming, you glitch," the black kittycon grinned as he broke into a sprint. A teacher stuck their helm out of a classroom door, reprimanding the two younglings on their language. Not caring at all that the teacher demanded both come back immediately, they both bolted around the corner, laughing maniacally all the way.

Confused further, Wheelie remained where he was; committing the name 'Frenzy' to his memory banks.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hello Wheelie. How are you?"

The youngling looked up at the counsellor, smiling brightly. Chromia was a pretty 'bot, he thought, and she was very kind. He was glad to have her for a counsellor. "Alright I am doing. I come for my reviewing," he answered brightly.

Chromia chuckled lightly. "Yes, I know. Follow me please," she requested, turning and walking across the office to her own room. Wheelie rose to his pedes and followed. Once inside, the papillon sat down again in one of the free chairs, while the german shepherd shut the door and sat behind her desk. For a moment, she turned to her computer, pulling up the student's file before returning her attention to him.

"Well, your grades are quite exceptional, so I'm glad that there's no issue there. My only concern now is if you've made any friends. Being a ward of the region, I understand you've been bounced around quite a lot but I'm hoping that you can receive the fullest experience here while at Iacon High before any more major moves. Has everything been alright? Are you fitting in with your classmates, you think?"

It was a loaded question.

Wheelie smiled kindly, his optics belying the tiny trace of sadness he felt. "I'm alright. There's no plight," he replied.

The counsellor looked somewhat doubtful. "...Are you sure?," Chromia asked. The youngling nodded his helm. "Very well. If you do have any trouble -any at all- please come and talk to me, Wheelie. I am here to help you and I want to ensure you have the best possible here. Okay?"

"Okay, okay! I go on my way." Smiling broadly again, the papillon slid from his seat, shaking the german shepherd's servo and skipping from the office. Chromia watched him go, smiling as well, but still feeling a little concerned for the tiny student.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Rumble stopped stroking his guitar, glaring at his twin. "Dude... you're spacing out again."

At the irritated grumble, Frenzy looked up from his magazine. He shuttered his optics idly, before turning back to the page he had currently open. "I don't know what you're talking about," the black kittycon answered.

"Yeah, right. Of course you don't," his brother shot back sarcastically. For a moment longer, Rumble stroked his guitar strings, before stopping and leaning further back in his bean bag. "So, me and some femme are going to go to Firestar's Soda shop tomorrow night. Want me to see if I can get her to drag up a friend for you?"

"No," came the quick response.

Rumble narrowed his optics. "You feeling alright, dude?"

Frenzy cycled a weary intake, glaring up from his magazine this time. "Yeah, I am."

"You sure?"

"Why the slag are you bugging?"

"Because," the blue kittycon hissed, sitting up straight. "You just totally shut down an offer to go out and get some. You've never done that before; something has to be wrong with you!"

"Idiot!" Frenzy rolled up his magazine and threw it at Rumble's helm. It unfortunately fell short of his target. "You trying to get us in trouble or something! If mom finds out-" The youngling paused, listening for any noise in the hallway. All was quiet.

"If mom finds out we're, you-know-what," he continued in a hushed tone, "He'll blow a fuse for certain! Dad won't be too impressed either. You know he keeps telling us that we should be waiting until we're bonded before we do that stuff."

Rumble reached out and kicked his twin. "Yeah, well," he scowled, "You're still being weird."

Rubbing his sore knee joint, Frenzy kicked back, nicking his brother's shin. "Whatever," he grumbled, pulling out another magazine and sinking further into his bean bag chair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Can't believe the teacher is splitting us...," Rumble groaned.

"No kidding," Frenzy returned. The youngling glared down at the scrap of paper in his servos. "The mech needs to get fragged or something. We always do projects together."

His brother nodded his helm stiffly, yanking open his piece of paper and reading it. "Ah, slag... I'm stuck with that weirdo Barrel. Who'd you get?" The black kittycon unfolded his own and shuttered his optics at the name he saw. Curious, Rumble leaned over his shoulder plating, glancing at the name.

"Wheelie? The dweeb who talks in rhymes?" The blue youngling snickered. "My sincerest apologies, 'Ren."

"Ah, shut up," Frenzy growled, elbowing his brother back. His twin sneered, about to say something more, but then their teacher yelled over the classroom din; telling them to pair up with the partner that had been written on their slip of paper and to begin discussing their project. Cursing under his breath, Rumble was dragged off by the ecstatic saint bernard, leaving the other kittycon all alone.

But not for long.

"Are you Frenzy?," asked a soft voice.

Turning slowly, the taller youngling looked down at Wheelie.

The papillon smiled, his optics shuttering slightly with the action. "Your partner I'm to be! I hope we get along well; I think this project will be swell."

"U-um, yea, sure," Frenzy coughed uncertainly, turning his darkening cheekplates away from the autodog. "So, let's, uh, get this project started,yeah?"

"Yes, yes, yes! Let us start our progress!" Wheelie eagerly climbed into the empty seat beside the kittycon, settling in and putting his notebook on the desk. The other youngling tried his best not to look at the autodog and his cute, wagging tail.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Frenzy tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. With a quiet huff, he sat up, staring across the room at his brother who was deep in recharge on the other berth. At his silent motion, Ravage lifted his helm, staring up at the youngling from his own mat on the floor.

"I'm alright, Rave," he whispered to the feline. "Just can't sleep."

Even with his reassurance, Ravage rose to his paws and padded over to the black kittycon; climbing up onto the berth and snuggling into Frenzy's side. The youngling welcomed it, slinging an arm around his pet's shoulders and scratching at his ears.

"I can't... can't stop thinking about this 'bot, Rave," Frenzy told Ravage softly. "He's a mech and an autodog... not the type I usually go for. But he's... he's really cute. I like the way he smiles, and the weird way he talks; how tiny he is, and his plating colour and... and..."

The kittycon trailed off, lost in his thoughts for a moment. He came out of his daze when Ravage nudged his servo, wanting to be petted some more. Chuckling lowly, Frenzy resumed his scratching, the smile slipping off his face again.

"I really want to hold him, I think. And take him out for dates, make him smile... just, I want to be important to him, you know, Rave? Just like dad is important to mom."

The youngling sighed, flopping back on his berth, upsetting the feline's position. With a huff, Ravage re-positioned himself, laying down up beside Frenzy's pillow and resting his chin on his folded paws. Frenzy smiled apologetically at the cat, rolling over and pressing his face into the animal's neck.

"...just wish I was brave enough to ask him out...," he whispered forlornly, shuttering his optics and dropping back off to sleep.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wheelie opened his locker, peering over his shoulder plating nervously, before whipping his helm back into the green space. He almost fumbled when changing his textbooks, his optics glancing at a photo he had taped to the back of the locker wall. He smiled softly at the image of a cocky, black kittycon smirking up at him, unable to stop the little wag of his tail.

It was foolish he supposed, but the more time he spent with Frenzy doing classroom assignments and projects, the more he found himself crushing on the other youngling. Though he came off very intimidating at times, Frenzy was quite nice and a good person and Wheelie did enjoy working with him.

Did the kittycon like him back, he wondered.

A sound from somewhere down the hall startled the papillon; quickly, he pulled his helm out from his locker, grabbing a notebook and slamming the door shut. He was glad that there was no one in sight when he turned to look behind him, for the autodog was sure his cheekplates would incriminate him with their fervent blushing.

Dropping his gaze to the floor, Wheelie was quick to shuffle on towards his next class, bemoaning the fact that he'd probably forever be one of those silly 'bots that doodled their crush's name in their datapads; lacking the courage to do much else, let alone vocalize their feelings.

...At least he still got to sit beside him during partner projects, the youngling supposed...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was quiet in the school that orn. Rumble and Frenzy were kicking it at the back of the school, sharing a couple shots from a high grade bottle they stole off of their uncle behind the cafeteria dumpsters.

"Flipsides has been stalking Shockblast again," the black kittycon started, taking the bottle from his brother's lax servo and swallowing a mouthful.

"Oh yeah?," his twin asked, his vocalizer already starting to slur. "She ain't ever gonna stop, is she? Stupid idiot can't stop her 'ther."

Frenzy shook his helm in agreement, feeling fuzzy about the processor now. "Blasty useless in stoppin' Flips... Hey, at leas' we ain't dealin' with dad for bein' her crush." Rumble snickered in cruel amusement at Shockblast's situation, taking the bottle back from the other kittycon and having himself another mouthful.

"True, true..."

"Are you guys drinking again?" The two younglings startled at the question, turning around and watching with bewildered optics as Flipsides walked around the side of the dumpster, looking nonchalant in her little yellow sundress and her persian tail all fluffed up. She wrinkled her olfactory sensor at the sight of the high-grade bottle, servos cocking onto her hips in a perfect imitation of their carrier. "You know you're not supposed to be drinking. You're too young!"

"Yer too 'ung!," Rumble retorted eloquently, hugging the bottle to his chestplates defensively.

"We're seventeen!," Frenzy shot back. He was more capable of verbal response than his brother was at the moment. "Look whose yappin' anyway! Yeh be too young to be here! ...why ya here...?"

The sparkling scoffed at the question, but purred in the next moment, swaying in girlish fashion. "I'm here to see Shockblast of course! Usually you three are hanging out together by now... but apparently you must have skipped class without him, huh?," Flipsides pouted, glaring at her brothers now. "You're purposely trying to keep him away from me."

The twins said nothing, exchanging the bottle again.

Shaking her helm in disdain, the femme turned and headed for the main building. "I feel sorry for the poor sparks you two decide to chase," she called back over a shoulder plating. "Certainly, I'm not going to make things easier for you guys when you idiots manage to finally get dates."

"Go back to school!," Rumble grumbled, while Frenzy blew a raspberry at his little sister.

"Oh, and if you tell mommy or daddy that I snuck away during recess," Flipsides added, pausing for a moment to smirk back at her brothers. "I'll do much more than tell them that you're drinking." With a giggle and a skip, the smaller kittycon continued on her way leaving the twins to stare after her silently.

"...she's too evil...," they muttered together, returning to their drink.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Wheelie didn't know what to think when he opened up his locker and saw the red envelope sitting there on top of his books. Shifting his textbooks into one arm, the youngling reached nervously into his locker, picking the envelope up. There was no name or information of any kind scrawled on the outside; for a moment, Wheelie didn't actually know what to make of the letter.

The autodog was snapped out of his daze when the bell rang over head, signaling the end of a period. Quickly, he shoved his books into the locker, grabbing his homework binder and backpack, the mysterious letter still held in one servo. It was on his processor all the way down the hall and even when he hurried out the school doors. But Wheelie refrained from opening the envelope, telling himself that he would look at it later.

Later only lasted about five kliks, when the papillon could stand it no longer and plopped down on a nearby bench; tearing open the envelope's seal with trembling fingers, his intakes halted in anticipation. Of course, that sensation was nothing compared to the raw emotion that gripped his spark once he had unfolded the paper inside, smoothing out the words so he could read them.

Wheelie's optics filled with tears as he clutched the letter tight to his chestplates; a happy, little squeal escaping him.

Frenzy liked him! Frenzy really liked him back!

The autodog jumped to his pedes, his tail wagging a mile a minute and his circuits up in a twitter. Wiping at his optics quickly, Wheelie turned around, heading back up the street and towards the school. He had to talk to Frenzy before he went home that night!

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"I...u-um, Frenzy? W-will you speak with me?"

The black kittycon closed his locker, slinging his backpack over one shoulder as he turned to face Wheelie. "Yeah, what is it?," he asked, finding himself very curious, in spite of the fact that school was now over and he was free to do as he wished. Like, head home and kick his brother's aft at City Destroyer II.

Those gorgeous optics glowed at Frenzy's pseudo agreement, before the grinning papillon grabbed his servo, leading them into the stairwell and under the alcove behind the steps. Wary at the change of setting, the taller youngling opened his mouth, ready to demand to know what they were doing here, when Wheelie spun around and threw himself at Frenzy; his face burrowing deep into his sweater's folds and thin arms wrapped tightly around the kittycon's chestplates.

"Oh, Frenzy! I'm so happy!," came the muffled shout. "Yes, I will go out with you! I like you a lot too!"

Stunned, the black mech stood there, his cheekplates burning brightly with his blush and his spark puttering erratically from the warm frame pressed up against his own. But the 'dream come true' quickly crashed as what the autodog had said finally registered in Frenzy's processor.

"What...," he hissed, unwinding Wheelie's arms and shoving the papillon back, "Just what the frag are you talking about?"

The smaller student shuttered his optics, his ears drooping slightly at the unexpected negative response. He fumbled to withdraw the letter from his pocket; gaze fixed on the floor anxiously, and fingers shaking as he worked to smooth out the creases of the paper. "T-this letter here, w-where you called me d-dear. You wrote of your emotions, and, for me, deepest devotions," Wheelie answered, holding the note out desperately as a show of proof.

Frenzy stared blankly at the pink paper and red envelope, his fangs peeking slightly out from under his upper lip component. "This is some sort of joke," he snapped defensively, taking a step back from the autodog. "I didn't write that -slag, I wouldn't even own pink paper. Who do you think I am, huh?"

The papillon could feel his world folding in and collapsing all around him. "B-but, the no-note... y-you don't...?" The rest of his words fizzled out as his intakes suddenly heaved and coolant pooled in his optics. Throwing the letter to the floor, Wheelie tore out from under the staircase; an arm lifted to his face and little sobs escaping him as he ran away from his crush.

The kittycon's servo shot up at the youngling's retreat, but his words remained stuck in his vocalizer, unwilling to leave. Mutely, Frenzy let his servo drop, staring at the trampled letter on the floor as the last of Wheelie's steps faded into the distance.


	12. Wheelie II

**Title: Wheelie II**   
**Rating: T**

"Woah... what happened here?," Flipsides asked, stepping cautiously around the wreckage strewn across her brothers' floor. She stopped when a growl came from the lump under the berthsheets, where her older sibling was currently bundled up.

"Honestly, after today you'd think-"

"Think what?!," Frenzy snarled. "What do you know about anything! You don't! You're just some stupid, little femme and-"

Flipsides sighed exaggeratedly, cutting off the youngling's rant. "...were you rejected?," she replied after a moment, her tone softening a little. "Strange... I had thought that he liked you. Wheelie was demonstrating enough signs and I made sure the letter was the best..."

"It was YOU?!" Frenzy threw the blankets back, shooting up on the berth and glaring at his sister. "You wrote that letter! You damn glitch, how dare you? I didn't know where the frag that stupid note came from, and Wheelie was crying and-"

The femme first cringed at the angry words her brother was shouting at her, but her meekness was quick to disappear as soon as the rest of Frenzy's shouting caught up with her. "Crying...? What did you do to him?!," Flipsides yelled back, denta bared.

The black kittycon shuttered his optics at the unexpected vehemency, leaning back, before his hackles rose in defense. "N-none of your business! Just stay out of my life!" Grabbing the blankets again, Frenzy threw himself back onto the berth, hiding from the world.

"Well good then! Rot in here for all I care!," the sparkling continued to shout, coolant rising to her own optics. "It's all you'd deserve anyway for hurting Wheelie when he only liked you, you big jerk!" Stomping her pede angrily, Flipsides turned, huffing in distress as she hurried back out of her brothers' room.

A klik after she had gone, a red visor peeked out from under the sheets; a small, whimper of a sob escaping before the mech buried himself back in his little cocoon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He... he was so stupid! Wheelie threw his books into his bag, pausing for a moment, staring at the picture taped to the back of his locker, before he reached inside, ripping Frenzy's image down and crumpling it into a ball in his fist. Feeling tears collecting in his optics again, the autodog quickly slammed his locker shut, hurrying down the hallway; hoping that he would not be stopped by a teacher or run into someone he didn't want to see.

The papillon made it all the way out the school's side doors before the dreaded interception happened.

"Excuse me? Could I speak with you for a moment?"

Refraining from wiping at his optics, Wheelie turned to the little femme, blinking at her in confusion. "I... I suppose so," he replied, "Why though?"

The puce and white sparkling smiled up at the autodog kindly, before skipping forward and grabbing his servo. "I promise it won't take long," she assured, "I just wanted to talk."

Uneasy still, Wheelie allowed himself to be pulled around the school, sitting on a bench near the soccer fields at the unknown kittycon's lead. Jumping onto the bench herself, the femme turned to him, her visor dimming softly even as her smile grew a little more.

"You seem sad... is anything wrong?," she asked.

At the direct question, the papillon felt his intakes rattle, the coolant gathering again in his optics. The sparkling scooted closer, taking his servo and snuggling into his side. "I'm sorry...," she whispered.

"W-why... why be sorry? You've d-done nothing t-to me...," he replied shakily, unable to push his sorrow away in the presence of the stranger's comfort. "D-don't take responsibility, f-for something th-that he-"

"But I am to blame," the femme cut in apologetically. She straightened up, looking the youngling in the optics. "Because of me, you're hurting... I-i... I knew that my brother liked you, but he didn't have the courage! And I thought, that I could help... B-but my letter only made things worse and for that I'm really sorry!

"W-what?!," Wheelie jumped to his pedes, stepping back from the sparkling, his optics flaring brightly. "I-i, but..."

"Please! Please don't run!," the kittycon begged, sliding off the bench. She clasped her servos before her chestplates imploringly. "Frenzy really does like you, and he's just as upset! He never meant to hurt you, I know he didn't, but he was just confused since I wrote the letter and he never knew. If you two just-"

The autodog shook his helm violently, backing away from the femme further. "N-no! No more lies," he wheezed, the tears dripping down his cheekplates. "With each a bit of me dies! I-if I h-hear anymore... I don't have the same faith as before. I just can't, won't, believe... b-believe that he f-feels anything for me..."

"I'm not made of stone...," Wheelie whimpered, shouldering his bag higher and turning away from Flipsides, "P-please, just l-leave me alone!" Choking on a sob, the papillon ran from the sparkling, not even glancing backwards. He missed the way that the kittycon's ears drooped or the sadness that shone in her visor as she watched the older 'bot flee; feeling worse and worse for her part in this whole mess.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Dad..."

Soundwave turned at the creaking door, setting his pen down and facing his son. This, he mused silently to himself, was almost becoming routine. Always it seemed that his little ones had some sort of trouble, and only on the rare nights when the kittycon could be found working late in his home office, would he be approached. Deja vu or not, Soundwave supposed it was good to know that he was still wanted as a parent for the advice he could give.

"Status: not busy. Inquiry: something on your processor Frenzy?," he asked, spinning his chair fully to face the youngling.

Frenzy seemed doubtful, but eventually he sighed, and padded over to his sire. Unusual for him, the black mech curled up at Soundwave's pedes; arms wrapping around one of the older kittycon's legs and squeezing tightly.

"Dad... I think I did something really bad."

Stunned by the show of affection, if only because Frenzy usually saved his cuddles and kisses for his bondmate Tracks, the persian was unable to respond for a moment. Servo resting on his son's helm, Soundwave rubbed at a lowered ear while saying, "Comment: vague. Inquiry: why do you feel as if you've done something bad?"

The youngling's helm turned up, a dim visor staring at Soundwave. Opening his mouth, Frenzy was quick to shake his helm gently, keeping silent to the question. Deciding not to push, the blue mech let the smaller kittycon remain as he was, until such a time that Frenzy was able to speak again. A couple kliks later, and he was doing just that. "I...I made a m-mistake... Dad, when you and mom got into a fight, what did you do to make it up to him?"

At the question, Soundwave suddenly understood what was going on. His gaze softening as he continued to pet the black kittycon's helm, the persian leaned back into his chair; his smile hidden under his mouthguard. "Fact: would apologize and confess my wrong-doing. Suggestion: sometimes repeating how you felt on a situation, or about the 'bot, helps in soothing any lingering aches," he said.

Frenzy was quiet as he absorbed this advice, before he nodded his helm and slowly rose to his pedes. Already missing the contact with his child, Soundwave clasped his servos in his lap, his visor glued to the youngling as he shuffled in embarrassment before him. "U-umm... th-thanks, dad," Frenzy mumbled. "For everything..."

"Status: you're welcome. Request: go back to bed, sleep well. Wish you all the best in reconciling with your crush."

Blushing, the black kittycon's ears shot up at being found out, before he mutely nodded his helm and hastily left the room. Soundwave chuckled lowly at the action, his spark only pulsing weakly in his chestplates. It was hard, the persian thought, being a parent and realizing that suddenly your children were all grown up and you couldn't understand where all the time had gone, when they'd still been sucking their thumbs or holding your servo as you crossed the street. Now they were becoming full-grown mechs and femmes, seeking out their own futures and falling in love. Soundwave vented softly, ears sinking against his own helm.

He wondered idly if he should tell Tracks that Frenzy had a crush on someone...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Flipsides ducked as another paper projectile came shooting through the open doorway. "Um...," she began, looking up at her older brother who stood on the other side of the doorway, a basketball tucked under one arm, "What's going on?"

"Beats me," Rumble sniffed. "He's been in there all day. Won't even come outside to shoot some hoops with me."

Peeking into the room cautiously, the puce femme was surprised to see her other brother Frenzy hunkered down at the shared desk in the twins' room; surrounded by a sea of crumpled paper balls and scribbling away fiercely on a brand new sheet. Seeing that she wasn't in immediate danger of getting bopped with one of them, Flipsides collected one of the few that had been tossed out of the room, unfolding it and smoothing out the edges a little. "He's... writing music?," the sparkling gaped, her visor flaring in confusion. "Or, well, lyrics I should say. But... Frenzy sucks at writing songs. You usually do that, Rumble."

She turned her gaze back up to the blue youngling, finding a frown on his face as he glanced into the berthroom. "Yeah, I know. Yet that idiot's determined to write up some sort of...something. He won't even let me help or tell me what it's for...," Rumble grumbled. "You know, I'd thought his weirdness would stop after he finished his random sulking episode last week, but now I'm starting to miss him huddling under a blanket and growling every time I walked past. Beats him ignoring me for some stupid song..."

With a huff, her brother turned about and headed back down the hall to the staircase. Flipsides watched him go for a moment, before turning her attention to the black twin still working away in the room. Glancing down at the sheet in her servos, the kittycon smiled, hopeful at the implications shown before her. Maybe her brother wasn't such a lost cause after all. With a skip and twirl, the sparkling went on her merry way, silently wishing Frenzy the best of luck in his task.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Talent shows at the school were the best. With the diverse student body, the display of skills and hobbies made the annual Talent Bash at Iacon High a must-see event of the stellar cycle. Frenzy and Rumble were popular spots on the show list, and they certainly loved to make their fans scream, to the teacher's chagrin. Playing hard and playing loud, the auditorium was in an uproar by the time the two infamous twins had finished their first song. Thanks to them being frequent participants (as well as being utterly adored and well behaved during the two weeks leading up to the show) they were allowed to play three songs -more than the common talent show participant was given. As the last note of their previous song faded into silence, Rumble took hold of the mike, sharing a look with his brother before speaking into the head.

"Alright, my bro Frenzy here is going to take over for this second song. It's a little something new and a little different... and completely done by him alone. So, give a round of applause for him, 'bots! A little encouragement for this big sparkling and the debut of his latest song."

Frenzy stepped up to centre stage, making a swipe for Rumble's helm as the other kittycon stepped back. Laughing at the exchange, the crowd clapped, small whispers breaking out curiously. New songs weren't uncommon with the two brothers, but for the black twin to be the one introducing them? That sparked some interest.

Silence fell again as Frenzy put aside his saxophone, grabbing an electric guitar and picking up a soft beat. Behind him, Rumble hit up the keyboard, filling out the melody. The change of style stunned the audience, who had never heard either of the kittycons play something soft nor slow. And then, Frenzy was singing...

"Aggravated difficulty  
It's somewhat my specialty  
I never say what I really mean  
prone to blow up in the wrong scene

Lacking even the courage to say I'm sorry  
after one terrible misunderstanding  
And with all my fronts and lies  
and bitter cuts  
I've bruised plenty others before  
but just this once...

I realize how much I can hate  
the things I do, or just how late  
I react to something  
I should have kept safe  
from the beginning

See, I'm a stubborn, punk fool  
The kind you traditionally meet at school...  
And though you'll probably  
grow up and head on your way

Becoming something greater than  
all these wasted words and lines  
Leaving all this behind...  
Would it be wrong of me  
to want to join you that day?

'Cause I know how stupid I can be  
How dumb and selfish I seem  
But I've never felt something  
That I've longed to hold safe  
from the beginning

I made you run  
I made you cry  
I cut you deep  
without questioning why

And I still see your pretty face  
marked with the signs of my disgrace  
And maybe I'm out place  
asking for your saving grace  
Pleading that my apologies  
might actually mean something...

So if you're able  
to look past my tough-guy acts  
Can forgive my inadequate tact...  
Would you in any way be willing  
To give me another chance  
to start from the beginning...?"

As the music began to dwindle, signaling the song's end, the auditorium erupted into ruckus applause; femmes screaming out proclamations of love and utter devotion to the black youngling up on stage. Wheelie, seated in the side row, was absolutely mute, his optics glazed over with coolant as he stared at Frenzy, his trembling servos clasped over his mouth. It looked as if the kittycon was searching the crowd, looking for the autodog specifically. The papillon's spark gave a weak, little pulse at the thought.

"Wheelie...?," Chromia asked from right beside the student. She bowed her helm worriedly, trying to meet optics with the smaller mech. "Is everything alright?"

Hesitantly, Wheelie nodded, still not speaking; his attention fixed entirely on the other youngling as he stepped back, swapping instruments before joining his brother for their last song of the talent show.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Meet you in the back, 'Ren!," Rumble jeered as he grabbed his guitar case and raced through the back of the stage.

"Wait! Bro! Ah, jerk...," Frenzy grumbled as his twin booked it from backstage, leaving the black youngling all by himself. With a sigh, the kittycon shrugged, continuing his task of making sure that his saxophone was alright and undamaged in any way, before setting it inside its' own satin, padded case. He was still muttering and cursing himself softly, and so did not hear the little pedes padding up behind him.

He did hear when his unexpected visitor spoke though.

"F-frenzy...? Wi-will you be seeing me?"

"Wheelie!?," the taller student yelped, leaping to his pedes and whirling around. He jumped back upon seeing the autodog, and at his loud outburst, Wheelie did the same. Immediately, guilt overcame Frenzy and he snapped his servos to his side, bowing his helm repentantly.

"A-about... about before," he stuttered, "W-wheelie, I'm r-really sorry. I-i shouldn't have-"

"It's okay, there's nothing to say," Wheelie kindly interrupted, bravely stepping forward, one servo outstretched. He hovered there, hesitantly, as if the papillon didn't know what other action to take. Staring at the appendage for a moment, Frenzy lifted his gaze, finding his optics glued to Wheelie's. Pale cheekplates darkened with energon, and a small, pretty smile worked its way onto the smaller youngling's lip components. "U-um... y-you play very well! You practice very hard, I can tell!"

Rubbing at an ear self-consciously, the kittycon shifted in place, trying to place his thoughts in order. "N-not really...," he confessed to the autodog's generous compliment. "Just kinda... play..."

Surprise showed itself on Wheelie's face. "O-oh..." Their means of casual conversation lost, the two students stood before each other uncertainly, shuffling and avoiding looking directly at the other. For a moment, Frenzy wondered if he should just spare them the trouble by leaving first... and then he discarded that idea, realizing finally that Wheelie had come to see him.

"W-was... was there something you wanted, Wheelie?," he asked, hoping that his inquiry might move the situation along -no matter what ending it would result in.

The papillon jolted a little at the question, his servos wringing themselves together nervously before his chestplates. "You... that letter you did write... it wasn't really you, right?" Large, blue optics were looking at him innocently, even as Frenzy shamefully nodded his helm.

"Y-yeah," the black youngling answered. "It was my kid sister. She... I-i'm sorry, Wheelie. Really... I s-shouldn't have gotten angry with you then, I mean-"

Wheelie quickly shook his helm, his optics glazing over even as he struggled to smile brighter. "There's no need to fret," Wheelie said, slowly turning around, "This we can just forget. Goodbye Frenzy; going home I-"

"W-wait!," Frenzy shouted, racing around and blocking the autodog's path. He paused, staring down at the anxious youngling, feeling his spark whirl wildly in his chestplates and his fuel tanks flip-flop sickly. "Th-the song -I may not have wrote the letter, but I did write every word for that song, a-and Wheelie... Wheelie I really do like you! I-i'm sorry that I was such a coward and freaked out before. P-please... please, will you give me a chance a-and go out with me?"

His visor gleamed beseechingly and even his servos were clasped before his chassis in prayer. If it took getting down on his knee joints, the kittycon was willing to do just that at this very moment. He was saved the trouble though, tears collecting in Wheelie's optics as the orange student shuddered, his intakes hitching in disbelief.

"Y-you feel this, really?," the autodog wibbled, "And w-want to be with me, truly?"

The hope in his tone was enough to bring some relief to the stressed mech. "Y-yes! Yes, Wheelie," he gushed, feeling his own self getting choked up as well. "I want to be y-your mechfriend, a-and I want us to go out a-and I want to see you smile and have fun. I-i swear I won't hurt you again, I-" The rest of Frenzy's words were cut off as Wheelie threw himself at the other student, face pressed into the kittycon's chestplates and thin arms wrapped as tight as they could around his middle.

This time, the black youngling did the right thing -he wrapped his own arms around the papillon and hugged him back just as tightly, kissing the side of his orange temple. The little, puppy tail wagged in contentment.

C.M.D: Song written by yours truly~


	13. Blades and First Aid VII

**C.M.D: Just a reminder- FF.net has a censored version available!**

**Title: Blades and First Aid VII**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warnings: graphic violence and sexual abuse**

"M-my baby... Where's my baby?!"

Ratchet stood uncomfortably as Groove shouted at Hotspot in favour of ignoring him, servos twisted tightly into a handkerchief and shaking as the komondor tried to hold back tears. Ignis, who had led the vet back to her house, stood beside Ratchet, crying silently herself.

"Honey, please...," Hot Spot weakly attempted to placate.

"No!," Groove shouted. "You told me that I shouldn't worry that he wasn't talking to us. You told me that he was just busy and as a full-grown mech, he was entitled to have some time to himself without informing us. You said that everything would be okay! Now my baby's missing and none of us know why!"

Choking, the grey autodog turned away from his bondmate, shunning the servos that rose to try and comfort him. Hurt, Hot Spot let his servos fall back to his sides; turning his attention meekly to the other two autodogs occupying the room with them.

"I... I am sorry about this, Ratchet was it?," the affenpinscher said weakly. "We don't mean to make a... a scene-"

"Don't worry about it," Ratchet quickly interjected, his usual scowl touched with sympathy for the other mech. "On worse days at the hospital, I see plenty of grief but there's nothing more frightful or spark-breaking than a missing child -no matter their age."

"I-i'm so-sorry, p-papa," Ignis sniffled beside the labrador. "I t-tried to find b-brother, but h-he was gone a-and I di-didn't..." Hot Spot walked forwards, opening his arms to receive the femme that charged into them an astrosecond later, choking back sobs as she buried her face into the blue mech's broad chestplates.

"I...it's alright, Ignis," the veteran soothed, stroking the youngling's helm. "Y-you were right t-to be c-concerned... I j-just wish we h-had responded sooner o-ourselves..."

Hot Spot shook his helm, clearing his vocalizer heavily. "All the same, thank you for coming and informing us, Ratchet. If we hadn't known that First Aid wasn't even coming to work in the last few days, we may never have known he was missing until it was much too late" Even admitting just that still caused the affenpinscher's face to twist in pain.

Nodding, Ratchet slide his servos in his pockets, trying to hide the weight settling heavily down upon his own shoulders. "Listen, I think it's best I leave now... give you time to think," he replied softly. "I'll file a missing person's notice to the Enforcers department, and maybe Ignis can help in giving them a follow up, plus any additional information that may come in handy. If there's anything you need, I'm always reachable at the hosp-"

The labrador was interrupted by a knock at the door; confused, three optics looked at one another, before Hot Spot straightened his posture and gently put Ignis to one side. "Excuse me," he said lowly, exiting the living room. Ratchet stood by uncertainly while the femme turned to Groove, seating them both down on the couch as she tried to get the older autodog to look at her. In the front hallway, there could be heard the muffled chatter of two vocalizers.

Just as the vet was about to turn and leave himself (announced or unannounced), Hot Spot returned... along with an older kai ken.

"Mr. Yoketron?," Ignis gaped, optics shuttering in confusion. Even Groove looked up at the stranger's name.

The autodog (who looked incredible for his indeterminable age) gave the family a small smile, though his optics remained dim and saddened. "I am afraid I have bad news," Yoketron began. He turned his attention to Ratchet, who was once again trying to excuse himself. "I believe you should remain, Ratchet, for this pertains to you as well."

"...you know me?," the labrador asked, suspiciously. He was certain he had never heard, let alone met a mech like Yoketron before.

With that slagging smile still fixed on his lip components, the mysterious mech nodded, turning again to the rest of the family. "Please," he vented softly, "Sit. It saddens me to say that what I'm about to share will be much to take in."

Tapping Ratchet gently, Hot Spot gestured for the vet to join him by the couch; to which the old labrador was inclined to accept, if only because he was curious of how this stranger knew of him. Once everyone was seated, attention garnered, Yoketron crossed both servos over the head of his cane... and opened his mouth to speak.

**xxXxXxx**

It was cold. Colder than before. They must of been underground, far underground, but the chill was good. Drove the haze away a little, tugged him out of the rise of unwanted memories. He was still debating if this new-found clarity was a blessing or not.

Dim optics looked over the puffing of his intakes, scoping the dark room. Already their numbers had dropped to maybe half. A handful had been dragged off orns before -screaming and begging and crying- to where, no one knew... and they all hoped they would never find out. A few others had merely passed on. A lack of proper food, air, the cold and infection from minor wounds had overwhelmed them. Their grey husks littered the cell with the rest of the living, the guards too lazy to dispose of them; decorated in a web of frost, and a free meal to the turborats slowly gathering in number.

First Aid wondered morbidly which path he'd travel down first: rodent food or victim to the unknown.

"Here."

Something cold hit the edge of his elbow. With lethargic effort, the australian shephered turned his helm to the side, perplexed to see the shih tzu once more there. "I have food," the youngling said, smiling. He was surprised to know that the smaller autodog was even in the cell at all.

He had thought he might be snatched up in the first couple selections. Imagining Fireflight being taken away from the group made something squirm within the vet; it drove him further up and out of his daze, reminding him that this was another 'bot -the very same ones that he swore to help and protect when he took his medical vows.

He felt colder now.

Hugging himself, First Aid looked down at the rusty half of a cup that miraculously held some of the gruel that had been delivered to them cycles ago. That all of the food had not been eaten was testament to the fact that many more of them had already given up fighting during their captivity. So why not this pup?

"Here," Fireflight repeated, gently pushing the cup forward again. The youngling's brow was slightly furrowed, expressing his concern. "You should eat."

He was right, of course. Eating, if even it all seemed hopeless, was necessary. Moving one servo, First Aid reached for the offered cup, slowly bringing it to his mouth. A weak 'thank you' whispered past chapped lip components, as the australian shepherd turned his optics away from the beaming youngling. Just like previous times before, Fireflight nestled into his side, warming the older autodog against the impossible cold.

**xxXxXxx**

_Long claws trailed down a cheekplate, causing a tingling sensation that trailed all the way down past his lip components, neck, and through his spinal struts. It left a strange feeling of being right and so very wrong at the same time. Confused, the poor autodog tried to lift his helm to see who stood directly in front of him... but everything felt weighted down. Like there was a servo upon his crown, keeping his optics downcast._

_Where?_

_The questions died on the edge of his glossa, not even reaching his lip components. His processor hurt for a moment, plagued with a stream of -memories? Fantasies? Stories?- that flashed through so quickly that there was only a muddy blur of colours before nothing again. Another sensation rose, more chilling than the one previously._

_Help..._

_"Say my name," the other presence said; vocalizer a chaos of overlapping chords and tones. The claw stroked again, gentle... harsh... gentle... "Call me by name and you will be saved."_

_Cycling deeply, the autodog felt his lip components finally part, pushing against odds and slowly lifting his helm. A smoky haze buzzed before him, indistinguishable. Red? Grey? Who was the one he should call saviour?_

_"V..."_

**xxXxXxx**

The large, creaking thunk of locks turning shocked them all from their slumber. Groggily, First Aid raised his helm from his arms, blinking against the blinding light filling the room. He only realized the door was open when a couple of the other younglings broke out into sleepy mumbling; all such chatter falling away to confused scrambling when shadows filled the doorways.

"Wha...," Fireflight whispered sleepily, lifting his own helm from the vet's shoulder. The australian shepherd quickly covered the youngling's mouth, looking him in the optics for a moment, before turning back to the doorway.

Every single one of the captives waited, vents stilled, trying to figure out what was going on. "Get four," a vocalizer growled out in the light. Immediately, the atmosphere changed. Any remnants of sleep were ripped away as five figures stepped into the dark cell, carrying large flashlights as they entered to a chorus of frightened whimpers and vents as the younglings hurried to scramble to anywhere safe in the room.

Getting to their pedes, First Aid hastened to get himself and Fireflight out of sight of their collectors, sticking to the wall against their backstruts. The shrieking began as the thugs started storming across the room, snatching at the smaller autodogs. One, then two, of the younglings were dragged out of the room, crying loudly, pulled by their necks and carried under one arm. "Two more!," the same vocalizer yelled from in the hallway.

Flashlight beams swept around the room in disarray, showing flashes of 'bots tripping and running and diving across the room. It was chaos as every captive fled along the four corners, desperate not to be taken away. Lip components pressed tightly, First Aid calmly moved across the room, searching for a nook decent enough to hide the both of them in. So focused in his task was he that when bright light flashed across the line of his optics, he paid it no mind, until gravity was violently shifted and he fell backwards; his hold on Fireflight lost.

"A-ah!"

Wincing, the vet rolled onto his side, slowly pushing himself up onto his knees. "Got ya!," one of their assailant's gloated, holding the shih tzu up off the floor by an arm. Across the room, another youngling screamed as they were grabbed, lifted over his captor's shoulder plating and carried towards the door.

"Hurry it up," their leader growled. "We haven't got all day!"

They were going to take Fireflight away. In a flash, First Aid was up on his pedes, grabbing for the mech turning to drag the youngling out of the cell.

"S-stop..."

Cruel optics turned down onto him, but he didn't remove his servo from the thug's arm. Fireflight whimpered from the other side, tearful optics looking back and forth between their captor and the australian shepherd. They pleaded desperately for help. Swallowing slowly, First Aid tightened his grip, stepping closer to the larger mech.

"Take... take me instead," he continued hoarsely, trying to keep back the fear filling his spark, "H-he... he's not ready yet..."

"N-no-," Fireflight began, but he was shoved aside before he could even finish his protest.

"Not ready, huh?," the thug sneered. It was frightening how quickly his optics lit up. "Very well," the older autodog went on, grabbing First Aid's wrist, "Let's go test your readiness."

Tripping after the first yank, the australian shepherd quickly regained balance; holding himself upright even as he was herded along behind the others, out into the burning light and certain death.

It wasn't long, or very far, before they were led to a large chamber; well lit and cleaned, in comparison to the rest of their prison that they had so far seen. The younglings twisted their helms back and forth, frantic optics zipping around the room in perplexed terror, but their captors merely brought the little herd to a stop a few feet beyond the door they had just entered through.

Surrounded, they had no choice but to stand there, waiting. ...but for what? Something hissed and growled loudly and with unfamiliar sounds, growing louder and louder as doors opened on opposite sides of the chamber. There were a few shrieks as a dozen of their captors dragged out a giant, steel box by a network of chains; the hideous noises escaping whatever thing laid within. Whatever it was, it was large and hungry, with teeth and claws so massive they could have easily been half the height of one of the youngling's each. And dark. The unknown beast was like a massive roiling blob of inky black; too dark to distinguish proper features aside from its fangs and claws and what appeared to be several slithering tentacles.

Sobbing, the lot of them were prodded forwards a few pedesteps, drawing the thing's attention. It snorted the air heavily, before growling gravelly; headbutting the cage, rocking it violently and wildly trying to claw out of its prison.

Trapped in their own fear, the younglings almost didn't notice the femme being carried out from the other set of doors, until she was almost was in view. And by then, she had started screaming. "B-by Primus! N-nooo! No! HELP! HELP ME, PL-PLEASE!"

She struggled wildly, but she was held good and tight in her captor's servos; pedes lifted up off the floor so she could not push against being carried closer to the cage. Despite her motion, it was still very evident she was completely bare (same as the mech that had her), cleaned of all grime and yet still filthy... but in a different sort of context. "P-please!," she shrieked, in tears. "D-don't do this! Let m-me go! PLEASE!"

Everyone ignored her cries, and instead she was carried closer to the cage. Callously, she was thrown to the ground when her and her captor were barely a few feet from the creature, lurking frighteningly silent in its cell. The femme sobbed loudly as something crunched underneath her frame (no doubt her ankle), too disoriented by the pain to fend off the thug as he bent down, chaining her to a ring imbedded in the floor.

Gasps broke out around First Aid, followed by pitiful sobs as the other younglings behind him watched as the thug then approached the cage with a long hook; looping the end around the large seal at the top of the cage and giving it a good hard yank, before backing far behind the chained femme.

The poor autodog herself only took notice of her situation the moment the cage door crashed to the ground with a thunderous clatter. Air cycled through her vents faster and harder as she grabbed the chain around her other ankle, desperately trying to pull free or something, as the creature began to rumble from within its fuel tanks, slithering through the opening like a wraith. A shriek escaped the femme, which she quickly muffled, as a few thick tentacles circled around her like a frame; slowly stroking up the side of her ankles and legs to bated vents from the entire audience. As the tentacles took a daring slide down the youngling's thighs, the creature itself drew closer, its heavy venting getting heavier and angrier.

"N...no... O-oh Prim...Primus, no-"

The beast roared, as if it had suddenly been stabbed, closing the rest of the distance with a slash of claws and wild tentacles. In its heated rage, the femme was literally impaled with one of the black tentacles, cut and slashed and battered as the creature loomed over her; revealing its mouth finally as it bared row after row of large fangs, a string of drool trickling out and coating the poor autodog as a vicious beating and terror impaired her to the point of immobility.

"N-no! No! NOOOO!"

The screams' echo was almost completely overridden by the creature's smacking jaws as it fell upon the autodog, devouring the femme in a ghastly, unmerciful fashion to a chorus of their assailants cheering. Behind him though, First Aid could hear the last couple of captives, crying and trembling. No doubt they had turned away in terror at the display they were being forced to watch, but he could not do the same. Trying to pretend something did not exist, didn't make it so, and this would be his -and their- fate soon enough.

Whistling, one of the thugs stepped forward, coercing the beast back into its cage with a barbed whip. The others cheered and chanted as the creature was sealed up once more; roaring and snarling, trying to reach out of the thin space between the bars with its claws. "Move it!," one of their captors commanded, shoving the younglings.

"Come on," the kittycon grinned cruelly, grabbing the back of First Aid's neck. "It's time to prepare for the next ceremony."

The other autodogs cried and begged as they were pulled across the chamber, their pedes splashing through the gnarled pool of energon left behind by the femme. Ignoring the pressing pain of claws along his spinal struts, the australian shepherd followed along willingly; the old chill creeping up once more and pulling him back under a spell of indifference.

**xxXxXxx**

Silence filled the room; only a few mechs occupying it, each lost in their own tasks. With carefully monitored cycles, Blades watched each of the other Wreckers, a dagger wriggling deeper and deeper into the top of the table he sat at alone. His grip tightened an inch as his gaze made its full circle to the lynx pacing back and forth on the opposite side of the room -equally as quiet and tense as the autodog himself was. Seeing the fragger always made Blades want to slit his throat but for this time, and this time alone, he was willing to let Vortex live another orn.

He could kill him after he got First Aid back.

The door opened and Yoketron entered, glancing at Blades momentarily before turning his helm to the other Wreckers. "Any signs?," he asked Sixshot.

"Nothing," the kittycon replied grimly.

Immediately Blades was up on his pedes. "This isn't working!," he growled, ripping his dagger free. "Sitting here, going over stupid files- we're getting nowhere!"

"Blades, you must-" Yoketron started.

"NO!," the bull terrier roared, interrupting the older mech. "This is my fragging BROTHER we're talking about! I want him back NOW!"

Sixshot rose out of his own seat, staring Blades down coolly with a look that clearly said 'one more toe out of line and I'll skin you for your disrespect'. Of course, the mercenary didn't care about the silent threat; he only got more riled up.

A cane shot up between the two mechs before a brawl could break out, Yoketron calmly stepping forward. "I understand your feelings Blades, but finding First Aid will not be accomplished by merely charging out into the city and blindly attacking everything, with no lead on where to search for him and the others. In fact, that may just get your brother killed faster."

"All the same...," the kai ken continued, lowering his cane before him, both servos folding over the sparrow, "I agree with you that things are progressing slower than I would like with these files. Which is why I am sending you, Vortex, to begin tracking alongside Razorclaw."

The lynx paused in his stride, helm canted as he and everyone else absorbed what had just been said.

"Yoketron," Sixshot began, "Surely you do not-"

"You're sending THAT fragger to find my baby brother!," Blades snarled, daggers drawn. "HOW CAN YOU?! Did you fragging forget he's a slagging PSYCHO!"

"No," Yoketron answered.

"FRAG YOU! I'm going out to look!"

"No Blades," the Special Ops Officer repeated, "You are to stay here with everyone else and keep going over the files for any clues as to where this new cult is housed at. Vortex and Razorclaw have more experience and skill at tracking than you, and they know to be stealthy about it and radio base should they find anything." There was a sharp, pointed look at Vortex to which the lynx purred.

Yoketron ignored him. "Sixshot, if you will," he requested politely, turning to the door. The large kittycon silently stepped behind Yoketron, facing Blades and blocking the path to the door. "Come along Vortex," the kai ken added, not even skipping a beat.

The lynx skipped to the door excitedly, allowed access by Sixshot, waggling his claws at the shaking autodog. "Have fun researching!," he cackled, before disappearing out of sight with their superior. A dagger found itself embedded in the wall where Vortex's helm had been an astrosecond too late.

**xxXxXxx**

"Y-you're back!"

Soft pedesteps echoed in the darkness, before warm arms collided into him, wrapping around his torso. The vocalizer was familiar, same as the touch; it had been the only friendly tone he'd heard in Primus knew how long.

"I... I thought y-you weren't coming back," Fireflight mumbled against his chestplates, the sensation of something wet pressed to the plating. "T-the others... the others d-didn't come back..."

No, the others taken with the vet didn't return. He'd watched as they too had been given and devoured by the creature, one by one. He never would have been spared to begin with if the damned beast hadn't eaten itself full. All the same, the australian shepherd had been scrubbed down intrusively... and then personally checked for a seal by his captors when they each took turns between themselves with their victims.

Was it a miracle then that he was returning?

"W-what happened?," came the dreaded question.

First Aid turned his attention to the shih tzu, and caught the dozen other optics floating in the darkness behind him, all desperate to know the answer. Standing there -weak, tired, ashamed, numb- the older autodog came to a decision. Lie.

"...nothing," he whispered, tone raspy. Needless to say, his "physical" had been quite extensive. "You should sleep."

Fireflight shuttered his optics, a smile slowly growing on his face all the same. He must have known he was being lied to yet he didn't seem afraid. Only glad. "Come," the youngling gently prodded, pulling First Aid further into the dark room, "I saved our spot."


	14. Wheelie III

**Title: Tape**   
**Rating: PG**   
**Summary: Things are in better spirits now**

The first thing Wheelie did when he got home that orn after school was grab his roll of tape and scissors, and marched into his room, grabbing his waste basket next and tipping its contents over the floor. Humming cheerfully, the little autodog meticulously sorted through the mess; piecing all the various scraps of paper here and there, like they were individual puzzles to be completed. When one sheet was finished, Wheelie then rolled out the tape, carefully following all the tear lines and fixing the damage as best as he could.

In the end, he had one freshly taped picture of Frenzy in his servos; the black kittycon grinning up at him in that cocky, dare-devil way of his. The sight of it made the papillon swoon, who was now aware too that just as Frenzy could be dashing and confident... he could also be sweet and shy.

Giggling, Wheelie pressed a kiss to the corner of the image's mouth, rolling back onto the floor and clutching the repaired photo to his chestplates. "I love you Frenzy," he whispered aloud to no one in particular, shuttering his optics blissfully, "You're my everything."

**Title: Bug**   
**Rating: T**   
**Summary: Frenzy just can't catch a break**

"I heard about it all!," Flipsides purred, twirling around her brothers' room happily and waving a plastic baton wildly, "Daddy even bought a copy of the talent show on dvd! You wrote a really great song 'Ren-ren. It was so beautiful and cute and amazing and magnificent and unique and..."

Frenzy slapped a servo to his forehead, glaring down at his trignometry homework in rapidly waning patience. "Listen, Flippers, I'm trying to work so-"

The black youngling choked as the femme threw herself at his backstruts, puce arms circling around his neck cables. "Are you going to ask him out or not? Come on Ren-Ren!," she whined, "He has to forgive you after that beautiful song! I know he really likes you and you worked really hard to apologize through what you do best -music! And-"

"Flipsides!," Frenzy growled, quickly shaking out of his sister's hold. He slapped his pen down on the desk, turning in the seat to glare at the sparkling. "Cut it out already! I told you I'm trying to do my homework; if I fail this test, my teacher's threatened to stick me in summer school! Summer school! I don't do school in the summer! And besides, nosy, I've already asked him out."

The older kittycon was smug for about three astroseconds as he reveled in his younger sibling's shock, before Flipsides squealed in delight and began jumping in place. "Yay! You finally had the ball-bearings to ask him out!," she cheered loudly.

"Wha-woah! Who said you could use that language?!," the mech gaped, leaning back in his chair, trying to put some distance between himself and the over-joyed sparkling. "I'll tell mom!"

Immediately, Flipsides entire demeanour changed. "You'll do no such thing," she smirked coolly, servos resting on cocked hips and a fang glimmering from under her curled lip components. "Or, I'll tell mom all about your little indiscretions... Like, the fact that you've interfaced with three different femmes!"

Frenzy gulped.

"And I've got the evidence to prove it!," the femme purred, rocking in place, "Pictures, video footage and even call history!"

There was no doubt about it... He had lost this round. "What... what do you want?," the black kittycon sighed, deflating in his chair with self-defeat. He started listing off some of the crazy demands his sister might make: from playing tea party, to public humiliation out at the mall. None of them were very good prospects...

"Ah, don't be such a big bornling," Flipsides replied, waving a servo nonchalantly. "I have better ways of torturing you without needing to blackmail you into something. No, I'm gonna set up your first date with Wheelie! 'Cause Primus knows you haven't even given that a moment's thought yet..."

"Hey!," Frenzy pouted, justifiably insulted. "I have so given it some thought! And why the slag should I let you plan it. He's my mechfriend now!"

The smaller kittycon shuttered her optics at him flatly. "Because this is your guys' first date, ever!," she sniffed, in perfect imitation of their carrier. "And it has to be utterly perfect! You don't want Wheelie to look back and think 'Jeez. What a horrible first date we had! Why do I even bother going out with this fool?'" The mech opened his mouth to protest. "No! Of course not," Flipsides continued on, cutting her brother off before he even had a chance to speak. "So, I'll plan it and make sure it's something that Wheelie will absolutely adore! And maybe then you can keep a 'botfriend for longer than two weeks..."

"I'll have you know I dumped them first!," Frenzy pouted, annoyed that he was being scolded by a sparkling. Flipsides rolled her optical sensors, turning and skipping from the room.

"I'll be back later," she called before she disappeared down the hall. Groaning, the mech turned and smacked his helm into his textbook.

"...oww...," he mumbled belatedly, too busy dreading Flispsides' and her "master plans" for his and Wheelie's first date to notice the pain he had just caused himself.

**Title: Ring Toss**   
**Rating: T**   
**Summary: Wheelie and Frenzy go for their first date**

Carnivals...

Of all things Flipsides had to choose for their first date, it was a carnival. Frenzy scowled, shoulder plating slouching in displeasure. He was certain now that his lil' sis was doing this just to torment him. She knew he hated carnivals, just as much as he hated ballet recitals and polka-dots. Yet here he was, stuck in the midst of one giant crowd, drowning in the smell of greasy, fried foods, stale condensation and something that smelled faintly like sewer excrement... The kittycon just wanted to go home, slaggit!

"Frenzy, I found you!," a cheery voice cut through the noise as a petite orange frame came rushing for him, "This place is as big as a zoo!"

"W-wheelie," Frenzy grinned, turning to face his date. Coming to a stop, the papillon crossed his arms behind his backstruts, looking up at the kittycon shyly. Frenzy thought he was gonna die on the spot. Dressed in a magenta cardigan and pale, pastel green capris (which oddly complimented Wheelie's plating colour) the autodog looked absolutely adorable; especially with his cute, tiny mouth turned upwards in a smile, his cheekplates tinged with a soft blush and his large, beautiful optics glimmering in joy and excitement. Realizing he had been staring longer than was really appropriate, the taller youngling quickly cleared his vocalizer and gestured distractedly at the rest of the carnival.

"S-so, umm... y-you got any f-favourite rides?"

Wheelie looked around slowly, chin tucking in and a servo rising to his mouth remorsefully. "Never have I been here before," the smaller youngling mumbled in embarrassment, "W-wish I were knowing more..."

The kittycon's visor winked rapidly as he shuttered his optics behind it. "R-really?," he asked, stunned. "You've never been to a carnival? Or a themepark?"

Slowly, the papillon nodded, his optics started to fill with coolant. The night would have been ruined entirely, but then Frenzy miraculously did something that saved their date before it could be cut short. He grinned, wrapping an arm around Wheelie's shoulder plating and pulling him close as he swept out his arm, pointing to all the rides visible from their vantage point. "Well, then, if there's anything you find interesting, just tell me! And we'll go check it out," the kittycon offered.

Wheelie's optics lit up in hope and disbelief, his slender fingers clutching at the taller mech's shirt. "R-really? A-anything I see?," he gasped.

Frenzy swallowed sharply, hypnotized as the cute autodog leaned against him; darkening cheekplates and soft lip components drawing him in. Oh, how he desperately wanted to taste them... Just as suddenly as he had the thought, the orange youngling was whirling away from him, trotting forward a few steps, pointing giddily at the bumper cars not too far away from them. "C-can I try this one? It looks like fun!"

The kittycon stood there, gaping for an astrosecond, before he sighed softly and smiled at the happy mech; pulling out his wallet as he approached Wheelie. "Of course," he answered, trying his hardest not to glance at the cute, little tail bobbing away merrily. "I told you, Wheelie, anything you'd like it's yours. But, first, let's get some tickets."

Nothing could explain how ecstatic Frenzy was when the papillon followed him as he turned away to the nearest ticket stand.

A few cycles, several corndogs, two sticks of cotton candy, and a dozen, different rides later, the two younglings found themselves wandering the carnival stands; winding down from all the fun they had. Wheelie was looking at everything that he could, admiring the various vendors and their wares glittering in the bright lights of the carnival, while Frenzy was secretly studying the autodog from the corner of his peripheral. Wheelie was really adorable... and the longer he stared, the wider the goofy, love-sick grin on the kittycon's face grew. Would it be alright, he wondered, if he reached out and took his servo?

A little gasp of excitement left the other mech suddenly and before Frenzy could understand what was happening, Wheelie was running towards the nearest game stand. His tail was wagging a mile a minute and his glittering optics shone like stars as the papillon looked over his shoulder; one finger still pointing to the display excitedly. "Ring toss! Throw the hoop across!," Wheelie chirped, "Can we still delay? Is there time to play?"

The kittycon looked at his watch. Well, it was getting a little late, but for a saturday he was making good head way. If his mom did end up getting suspicious though, he knew his dad would take care of it. "Sure thing," Frenzy purred, striding forward and fishing out his wallet again. It had been thick upon arriving at the carnival, but now it had dwindled down to its regular thinness. Such an occurrence might upset others, but not the black youngling. After all, he had more credits sitting at home, and nestled elsewhere in a bank account. Slapping his credits on the table top, he grinned cheekily at the vendor, saying, "Eight rings, please," and handing Wheelie his four.

Gushing in delight, the orange 'bot barely waited a klik before attempting to toss his rings over the counter and get them to land on the various pegs fifteen feet away. Sadly, not a single one made it, falling short before they were even close to their target. Ears drooping a little in disappointment, Wheelie turned his optics away from all the pretty teddies and his fallen rings, a sound of awe escaping him as he heard thunk after triumphant thunk sound as Frenzy's rings landed on their pegs. Before the autodog could cheer ecstatically over his friend's win though, the kittycon was handing more credits over to the vendor, who, looking somewhat unamused, handed over several more rings.

Perplexed, Wheelie remained silent, his large optics open and watching.

Frenzy rolled the rings in his servo slowly, feeling them, testing them, knowing that a traditional gimmick for any carnival or themepark game was to weight the projectile to reduce the chances of winning. To a mere simpleton -aka, the rest of the carnival goers- this tidbit would be lost on them, but to a king of pranks, these were mere parlour tricks in comparison to the things he could do. Having grown accustomed to the unnatural weight of the rings, and after quickly calculating velocity, wind speed, peg arrangement and distance between servo and optic, the kittycon readied himself for his next toss; aiming for the smallest, almost hard to see pegs at the very back of the stand. Those were the ones that would rack up the biggest points, which would mean the biggest prize won in the end. Grinning at how easy a victory this would be, Frenzy threw his first ring with well-practised ease, watching as it fell with a thunk, twirling around the peg's base for a few astroseconds before coming to a complete stop.

Four rings later, and he'd sunk all of them so far on the itty-bitty peg along the back. One more, the black mech smirked, and he'd be able to win that giant turquoise teddy. He threw, it sailed... but sadly, it missed. Frenzy stared, stunned, as the ring twirled around the peg's tip before plunking off to the side with a hollow thump. Inside, he felt a spark of irritation begin to grow.

"Congratulations," the vendor gruffed, pulling down the next largest plushie -a peach elephant with rosy cheeks and blue button eyes. "Your prize."

"Hurray, hurray!," Wheelie jumped beside the kittycon, his arms spread wide in the air and his optics shuttered merrily. "You were great I say! Magnificent was every throw! How you did it, I do not know! But I'm-"

The autodog cut his cheers short as the doll was thrust suddenly into his face; a blushing Frenzy scratching at his darkening cheekplates with one finger from the other side. Embarrassed himself now, the orange youngling slowly took hold of the doll, glancing from its cute face and up to the taller mech and back. "W-what... what's this for?," he asked, stuttering, "D-don't you w-want him anymore?"

"W-well, I...," Frenzy mumbled, looking down, "I-i won it for you. I-it's yours now..."

Ears stiffening in surprise, Wheelie stared at the doll with new light, before burying his face into its pelt and giving it a quick nuzzle in joy. "Th-thank you very much; I'll treasure it such!," he replied happily, turning his grin up to the kittycon. He giggled a little when he saw Frenzy flush deeper, before quickly glancing at his watch and shuffling in place awkwardly.

"S-so...uh... Guess we should head home, huh?," the black mech suggested. Checking his own watch, the autodog shuttered his optics in surprise at how late it had gotten. Shifting his grip on the teddy -which was at least half his size- Wheelie smiled sadly, disappointed that this night had ended so fast.

"It's as you say so, we should go."

Nodding his helm in acknowledgement, Frenzy turned, finding the carnival's exit and briskly starting off in that direction. Wheelie jogged along behind him, hugging his new doll tightly and beaming like the sun.

**Title: Fail**   
**Rating: T**   
**Summary: Frenzy updates his brother**

"You WHAT?!," the lilac and blue kittycon shouted, fumbling his shot and causing his ball to bounce off the backboard and smack Shockblast upside the helm.

"DUDE?!"

"Sorry!," Rumble apologized distractedly, his whole attention fixed on his twin. "What the slag do you mean you're dating that weirdo Wheelie? And why on Cybertron does Flipsides know before I do! I'm your TWIN, slaggit!"

"Hey, it wasn't my idea to tell her," Frenzy scowled, picking up the discarded basketball and dribbling it idly. "Flipsides found out on her own. She was the one who sent him some girly fragging love letter, and then I had to take the brunt of everything when I spazzed out on Wheelie afterwards... And he's not a weirdo!"

"The kid talks in rhymes...," Shockblast dead-panned between the two brothers.

"See!," Rumble exclaimed, "Even Shockblast agrees with me! And what does that have to do with anything. We know Flipsides is pro at getting dirt on everybody, but that doesn't mean you confess the truth to her first!"

The black kittycon scoffed at the accusation, shaking his helm at his brother's childishness. Meanwhile, their friend was scratching at the side of his helm with one claw, his only optic narrowed in growing horror.

"What a minute... does that mean Flipsides knows bad things about me as well?," he asked aloud.

"Dude, you're being ridiculous," Frenzy replied, ignoring the tabby, spinning the basket ball on the tip of his index finger now.

"Ridiculous?! RIDICULOUS?! Ridiculous is wearing neon orange socks with a choke-me bright fragging PINK shorts! Ridiculous is calling all your friends over so they can watch you try to skateboard off the roof of your house! Ridiculous is -wait! Wait a KLIK! That song... that stupid fragging song you stressed over for WEEKS and pissed and groaned about until I let you play it in the talent show... That sappy bit of slag... That was for HIM, wasn't it?!"

"Umm... guys?"

"Yeah, your point?"

"...serious apocalyptic feeling rising over here..."

Rumble tipped his helm back and screamed to the sky in frustration.

"...never mind," Shockblast sighed, conceding to the fact that his troubles meant very little right now.

"Oh, grow up dude!," the black youngling grumbled, turning and sinking a perfect shot into the basket. He let Shockblast grab the ball as it bounced back to them. "You're being a little drama glitch and acting all prissy as if I just dumped you for the city's sewer rat. So let me clear some things up for you: one, you're my brother -not any of our creators- and two, I am dating Wheelie and I'm happy so don't frag things up or I'll frag you up!"

The blue mech glared at his twin, servos propping themselves on his hips and his lip components twisting in a fierce scowl. "Fine... whatever. What should it matter to me who you date?," he huffed irritably. "Yeah, you're right, I'm not your creator. I just happen to be your fragging twin and we've been doing stuff together since we were like...oh, I don't know... BORN?! But, yeah, fine! Go be happy with your weird, rhyming mechfriend! I hope you screw happily ever after!"

Shockblast shuttered his optic at the harsh words, glancing warily between the two smaller kittycons; wondering if he should run now, or if they'd attack him at the slightest sign of movement.

Frenzy returned the heated stare with just as much vehemency before he suddenly deflated, looking at the ground embarrassed. "...well...," he mumbled, deliberately avoiding optic contact with his brother and friend.

The two younglings stared at him silently.

"Hold up a nanosec...," Rumble started.

"You mean you haven't yet...?," Shockblast continued.

"At all?!"

The black kittycon refused to look up, but his sinking ears gave him away. "FAIL!," Shockblast and Rumble jeered, breaking out into howls of laughter. At their raucous response, Frenzy snarled, before throwing himself at the other two and tackling them to the floor.

**Title: Studying**   
**Rating: PG**   
**Summary: One more step forward**

Okay, so maybe it was a little disconcerting to Frenzy that his relationship with Wheelie hadn't really moved on past the friendship zone. It had been a few decacycles already, and in highschool, that translated to stellar cycles. Stellar cycles of tame, quiet dates with little to no contact at all... Not even servo-holding! And despite what others might think, the kittycon was content not interfacing. He enjoyed what he had with the papillon -the comfortable silence, the joy, the peace the other gave him in spark and processor- something he had never experienced before with his past relationships. But...

Looking at the autodog sitting beside him now, who was kindly whispering, explaining the complex theory written in their science books as they sat studying in the library, Frenzy couldn't help but wish to be closer. To simply hold Wheelie to his frame and kiss him softly, and see love and trust be shown back to him in that innocent gesture.

Beautiful, blue optics turned to him then, a care-free smile on Wheelie's lip components. "Is it clear yet? Anything that you still don't get?," the orange youngling asked.

Frenzy couldn't reply. He was stunned by how lovely the papillon looked, and how amazing it was that apparently this 'bot loved him. It was like a wonderful dream...

Without giving it a thought, the kittycon leaned forward and bridged the distance between them; his lip components pressing warmly, fleetingly, against Wheelie's before he pulled back with a gentle sigh, resting their foreheads together and looking into the other youngling's shimmering optics.

"Thank you...," Frenzy smiled.

A strange little click echoed from the autodog's throat, as, for the first time ever, words failed Wheelie. Shuttering back his tears, the smaller mech smiled in joy, his tiny servo slowly sliding across the table top and lacing fingers with the black ones lying there. It was Frenzy's turn to be shocked this time, but his grin only grew wider at the brave gesture.

In return, he leaned back down, gently kissing Wheelie again, who leaned forward an inch to meet him.


	15. Vortex and Fireflight VII

**C.M.D: Hey, look whose posting out of chronological order! Anyways, events here sort of take place before First Aid's story arc, just to keep people from getting confused.**

**Title: Vortex and Fireflight VII**   
**Rating: T**

"Brawl...," the little shih tzu asked, turning his helm around shyly, "Where's Vortex? Isn't he here today?"

The serval looked up from the 'tea party' they were having, his servos full of mud scooped from the garden bed. Glancing up to the top of the house, the mech shrugged, slapping his home-made treat onto one of the plates. "He's sleeping in his room. Daddy says he's not to come out until he can be good -he's placed a spell on the door," he explained, decorating his mud pies with some four-leaf clovers.

"Spell?," Fireflight replied, canting his helm to the side in cute confusion. "Is there a way to break the spell?"

Brawl paused in what he was doing, looking at the youngling. "...you want to play with Vortex instead, huh?," the kittycon said softly, ears drooping a little.

Guiltily, Fireflight turned his optics down to his lap; playing with the hem of his dress. "W-well, I miss him... I promise I'll play with you again though!," the shih tzu vowed. "I like playing with you!"

Immediately, Brawl perked up, tail swishing happily. Leaning across the little, plastic table, he not-so-quietly whispered to the autodog, "Daddy makes the spell work with numbers. Two, two, eight, five, one, zero."

Nodding rapidly at the code, Fireflight jumped to his pedes, quickly hugging Brawl. "Thank you so much, Brawl! Please don't tell See-Dee or Onslaught that I went to see Vortex, and I promise we'll play lots next time!"

Brawl nodded back as the youngling dashed off, returning to his mud pies contently.

**xxXxXxx**

He'd been sleeping. Not dreaming -he never dreamed. But he'd been resting, for sure, until he noticed a change in environment.

Optics onlining beneath his visor, his pixels slowly focused until they were staring at the little shih tzu sitting quietly at his side. Fireflight noticed the red glow, brightening as the kittycon woke and a shy smile slowly bloomed across his face. "Hello, Vor-"

The rest of the shih tzu's greeting was cut off as his arm was suddenly grabbed, dragging him over the lynx's frame and crashing on his torso. Blushing brightly, he shuttered his optics, face mere inches from Vortex's.

"...how did you get in here?," Vortex lowly asked, his lip components fixed in a flat scowl.

"I-i..." Fireflight swallowed, unable to look away from the red banner. "I w-wanted to s-see you... I m-missed you... So I g-got Brawl t-to give me t-the code, s-since you were g-grounded a-and I..."

The lynx slowly began to smirk. "So you lied? To get to me?," he purred. The shih tzu blushed further, glancing down finally. It wasn't that he had lied, but he was keeping this visit a secret, to make sure that their time together would not be cut short.

Was that a bad thing?

"Fireflight... Oh, Fireflight," Vortex cooed, a servo sliding down the autodog's backstruts, "Look at me?"

Shyly, Fireflight glanced up again, unsurprised to see the kittycon smirking. It was such a familiar look the shih tzu had started to miss immensely, that he couldn't help shifting up a couple inches, pressing his mouth softly against the grey mech's. "I love you Vortex..."

The lynx paused, his servo half-way up the autodog's skirt, as he was kissed. He had honestly not been expecting such a gentle caress or for the breathless, sincere words that followed next. Shuttering his optics, he stared mutely at the sparkling looking back at- no, his processor noted. Not a sparkling anymore. Fireflight had officially become a youngling the other orn; he'd heard the party from upstairs. Growing...

But still small, still sweet, still innocent and still foolishly enthralled by him. Growling lowly, Vortex slammed their mouths together, cupping the shih tzu's aft; holding him close as he rolled them over in the berth, trapping the youngling beneath him.

"Snowflake...," he rumbled softly, lunging down and nipping Fireflight's neck cables between hungry kisses, "Oh, snowflake... I'm gonna frag you so hard. I want to feel you shaking under me."

Mewling, Fireflight attempted to nod, spreading his legs as wide as he could as the lynx shoved his dress up his chassis. "P-please," the youngling whimpered, clutching to the kittycon, "Pl-please, Vortex... p-please, I w-want to be w-with you. I w-want to h-have you i-inside!"

Purring lustfully, Vortex quickly nudged between the spread thighs; spike pressurizing along the other's plating as he started a slow grind.

**xxXxXxx**

Onslaught slowly walked up the attic steps, stopping on the landing and listening for a long klik. He heard nothing, which meant little considering whose room was up here, but not even the dust had been stirred. He took that to mean that nothing was currently taking place on the other side of the door.

Venting softly, the kittycon crossed the small room, punching in the code for his son's room. When the keypad gave a small beep, the serval opened the door, taking a cautious peek into the room. He was not overtly surprised to see sheets pushed aside haphazardly and clothes tossed carelessly to the floor, along with a sharp, musky scent that permeated the air.

He was, however, a little surprised to see a peaceful, slumbering Fireflight spooned into Vortex's curling form on the berth. Shuttering his optics slowly to make sure he wasn't imaging things, Onslaught cautiously crossed the room; pausing at the berthside. Once he had confirmed that Vortex was asleep as well and not simply lying in wait, the serval reached down and gently eased the shih tzu from his psychotic son's clutching grasp, before carrying Fireflight -dress and all- out of the room. He cradled the youngling with one arm as he closed the door and ensured the lock was in place; after which, he turned and carried the tuckered out autodog downstairs to his waiting, fretful brothers.

**xxXxXxx**

He hated this.

Vortex sat, by himself, on the living room floor; forced into sitting beside the playpen standing between him and his Fireflight, while the brat played quietly inside. Every time Fireflight looked away, he would make a face at the bornling and smirked triumphantly at the terrified look Breakdown gave him each time. It was enough to make him chuckle contently... at least until his sire kicked him in the back of his spinal struts, growling at him lowly. Turning around, Fireflight shuttered his optics in cute confusion, looking at both kittycons.

"Is something wrong?," he asked sweetly.

Both kittycons answered with a quick, flat "No".

Assured by this, Fireflight went back to his flower weaving, but not before scratching Breakdown behind his ears. Bored once again, Vortex huffed in silent ire, wishing that he could be anywhere but stuck here -and preferably with the shih tzu. He was distracted from his sulking for a moment when Skydive walked into the living room, carrying the twins.

"Look who finally decided to wake up," he smiled cheerfully, bringing both Motormaster and Dragstrip over to the playpen. "Would Breakdown like to meet his uncle and auntie?"

"Of course Bedo would love to meet them!," Fireflight chirped merrily, reaching into the playpen and lifting the hybrid out. The skittish bornling mewed in confusion and slight fear as he was cradled in his carrier's arms; his wide, uncertain optics fixed on the other two strangers inches away from him.

Both Motormaster and Dragstrip stared back, uninterested in responding to the anxious bornling before them. Smiling obliviously, both autodogs turned and settled on the floor, letting the hybrids lay on their stomachs to play or crawl about as they wished; moving all sparkling toys between themselves so that they'd be more available to the bornlings. At this change of position, both Motormaster and Dragstrip slowly wormed across the floor, olfactory sensors sniffing the air frequently as they approached Breakdown.

The poor mechling squeaked fearfully as they drew closer, yet he could not wiggle away like the twins and had no choice but to curl up a little in fright as the other two hybrids reached him. They sniffed for a klik about his helm, ignoring the smaller one's squeaking, before wriggling away indifferently; grabbing toys and entertaining themselves quietly. Surprised to be unharmed, Breakdown looked back up, staring at the twins, then shyly inching across the floor like a worm to play with the rattle next to Dragstrip.

Pleased by the hybrids' first, proper introduction, Fireflight and Skydive set into quiet chatter, updating each other on home and daily life. Meanwhile, both kittycons sat behind them, forgotten for the time being. Scowl deepening quicker and quicker, Vortex sulked at the lack of attention he was receiving from the shih tzu and his lost chance to harass his unwanted spawn.

He was not all that surprised when he got another kick upside the helm from his sire; turning around, he found the serval quietly opening his paper, unrepentant about what he'd just done. "Just sit there and behave," the seval informed lowly, "Or you're going back into the room for the rest of the visit... and Fireflight _won't_ be coming up to say goodbye."

Fangs bared disapprovingly, the lynx crossed his arms, sulking in obvious fashion.

**xxXxXxx**

Yawning, Silverbolt pushed himself from his berth, rubbing momentarily at an optic to chase away the last of his sleep. He heard another creak on the staircase from down the hallway, softer than the one that had woken him up. Fireflight wasn't nearly as heavy to make the stairs creak so who was out there at this time of orn?

"Air Raid...?," the shih tzu mumbled hopefully, grabbing his robe and walking out of the room, "Are you back?"

There was no one to be seen when he got out on the landing. Perplexed, the white mech paused, trying to make sense of the situation. For caution's sake, he checked Fireflight's berthroom but did not find his younger brother in there. "...Fireflight?," Silverbolt called, turning around hesitantly.

"Boo," a vocalizer whispered into his audio, cruel and taunting.

Whirling around, the autodog slammed back against the wall, glaring up at the lynx even as his knees shook uncertainly. "You!," he hissed, servos curling into fists. Vortex merely watched him, slag-eating grin stretching wider across his face.

"Why so hostile?," he jeered. "Forgot to lock your windows or something?"

"Get out of my house!," Silverbolt barked. His fuel tanks were roiling sickly and he suddenly wished he had at least several layers on rather than just one, but either way, he wasn't going to allow himself to be weak in front of this creep. The kittycon preyed on weakness. "Where's Fireflight?"

"I didn't take him," Vortex grunted, scowling for a moment. His grin was back quickly. "In fact, he is perfectly safe, here... and happy to have me."

The shih tzu glared harder, starting to shake more with anger than fear. "You sick sonnuva glitch- if you even lay a single claw on him, I'll-"

"Vortex! Breakfast is ready!," Fireflight called, stepping into sight downstairs. The shih tzu wore one of Silverbolt's apron, fretfully large on the youngling's frame, which was spotted and splattered with the same mess that covered the spatula he held in one servo. Pausing as he saw the kittycon was not alone, Fireflight shuttered his optics before smiling brightly. "Good morning, Silvy! Would you like some pancakes as well?"

"I..." Silverbolt glanced at his brother, then at Vortex, and back to Fireflight again. He desperately wanted to say 'no', because any appetite he may have had was immediately killed by the lynx's presence, but declining also meant leaving the youngling alone with that psycho. And that was definitely not something Silverbolt could do. "I'll be down in a klik," he replied, to (in some relief) Vortex's displeasure, "I will just throw some clothes on."

"Okay!," Fireflight chirped merrily, no doubt his tail wagging. "I'll get you a plate." With a skip and a bounce, the smaller shih tzu headed back into the kitchen and the white mech was certain to make a quick escape to his own berthroom, before Vortex made up his processor as to whom he should chase after.

**xxXxXxx**

It was the usual sunny orn. Birds chirped, the sky was a bright blue, sparklings played up and down the street... and one particular kittycon was scaling down the side of a pretty two-storey house via the drainpipe. Ears twitching with every gleeful squeal that could be heard and tail swishing with anticipation, the lynx was a terror to be feared, even as he made his way to the ground like a giant, four-limbed spider. Not that Vortex minded being likened to a spider. Actually, there was very little he minded, especially when it came to the things people called him.

"Pit-spawn..."

Like that for example!

Pausing, the kittycon turned his helm, finding Onslaught had rounded the side of the house; a rake in his servos.

"A rake?," Vortex smirked. "Really?"

"Just _where_ do you think _you're_ going?," the serval growled, glaring at the comment. "I didn't give you permission to leave."

"Ah, well, you see... I got bored." The lynx grinned, unjustifiably proud of himself, as he leaned back, letting go of the house siding as he did a somersault before landing neatly on his pedes. "And I know you were ignoring me, so I figured I'd take the opportunity to get out and breathe in some fresh air."

"And terrorize the neighborhood while you were at it?," Onslaught snidely replied. "Again."

Vortex ignored the jab. "Daddy-o, I believe you have some raking to do," he cooed mockingly. "'Cause it's very obvious you're not doing _any_ plowing in that 'garden' you have indoors."

Dust blue optics flared as fangs revealed themselves in a snarl; the grey mech finding himself slammed against the house, rake pressing against his neck cables tightly. "We," Onslaught hissed between clenched denta, "Have. A. Mission. So, I _won't_ be skinning you tonight." Stepping back, the serval let the other kittycon drop to the ground, greatly resisting the urge to kick the git's denta in.

"Aw, we have to reschedule?," came the taunt.

"Laugh it up, son," the green mech spat. "But you are responsible for telling Fireflight that you're going to be gone for a week."

Immediately Vortex's jeering grin fell.

Smirking himself now, Onslaught thwapped the lynx upside the helm with the end of the rake, before turning and heading back to the front of the house. "Have fun."

**xxXxXxx**

"Vortex!"

Fireflight rushed at the kittycon with arms wide open the moment he climbed through the window, wrapping his little arms as far around the lynx's frame as they would go. Fingers waggling a little at such an odd greeting, Vortex slowly pinched the back of the youngling's shirt, pulling him away.

"Um, yes... hello," he mumbled back flatly.

"I was starting to miss you already," the shih tzu beamed, shuttering beautiful blue optics up at the grey mech. "So has Breakdown! Did you know that he almost stood up on his own yesterday? It was so amazing and wonderful and I'm so, so, so very happy!"

"Mhmm...," Vortex hummed, very unintrigued with any new development on Fireflight's brat. Unless he came up missing. Or better yet, dead! "Snowflake-"

Fireflight interrupted him immediately, almost bouncing where the kittycon held him. "Oh, I can't wait to show you all the new things we got Bedo and the dress that Silvy bought me and-"

"Snowflake," the lynx persisted, pressing a finger to the youngling's mouth. The autodog shuttered his optics up at him quietly, helm canted cutely. "Now, listen, I unfortunately did not come to visit..." Decisions, decisions. How ever should he phrase this to the pup, Vortex wondered.

"Y-you... you didn't?," Fireflight whispered from behind the digit, servos falling hopelessly before himself. "Y... you're not leaving, a-are you Vortex?" Well, that saved him the trouble of being the first to bring it up.

"No, no, no!," Vortex quickly soothed, stroking the very same claw down the shih tzu's cheekplate as coolant filled the other's optics. "Well, not exactly... See," he rectified, "I do have to go. On a little trip with daddy-o. It's for work you see; totally unavoidable."

"W-work?," the youngling sniffed. "S...s-so, you're coming back?" Crushed hopes were rapidly rebuilding themselves in that innocent gaze. "W-when? Where? Can I go too?"

Calculating, the kittycon shook his helm, rocking back on his heels and pulling the youngling towards him. "Precious things like you can't come, sadly. It's much too boring, and occasionally hard work too. No, you're better off staying here with your brothers and... Breakdown," he forced out, grinning.

Fireflight's shoulders sagged a little at that news, but he appeared to understand, if even just a bit. "O-okay...," he vented, rubbing at an optic quickly. "But, y-you will come back... r-right?"

"Of course," Vortex purred, petting at an ear. "In a week's time."

Venting sadly, the youngling nodded, before suddenly throwing himself at Vortex once again. "B-be safe," he whispered, turning his face into the kittycon's chestplates. Quietly, the grey mech held still, unreadable visor staring down upon the autodog. Only after Breakdown cried in his sleep, stealing his carrier's attention, did the lynx creep back out unnoticed.

**xxXxXxx**

Hefting the basket higher, Silverbolt headed upstairs with the freshly folded laundry, going through a list of chores in his helm. He knew the washrooms still needed scrubbing and there were some dishes left over from lunch, but his main concern would be dinner which was coming up within a few cycles. A possible visit from Trailbreaker also hung over the shih tzu's helm, both a worry and a pleasure. Shifting the weight of the laundry basket again, the autodog headed for the second floor landing, hearing soft humming coming from down in Fireflight's room.

Smiling, he headed in that direction, peering into the open doorway quietly. Unsurprisingly, Silverbolt found his little brother and Breakdown within, happy and giggling. What did startle him though was exactly what the youngest shih tzu was doing...

Holding his newest white sundress to his frame, Fireflight swayed from side to side in front of his mirror while Breakdown watched; smiling and giggling and humming a few bars that Silverbolt recognized sadly as the Wedding March.

He was just a youngling... The older shih tzu held back a sigh, shoulders slumping heavily. So much had been stolen from Fireflight. His innocence, his youth, a chance to go to school and be and play with other autodogs his age. The poor thing didn't even realize that he lived a life half in secrecy, protected by the mech whose same son had put Fireflight in this position. All his brother had left was Breakdown and love...

But even love would never fulfill a sparkling's dream of being cared for, bonded and loved equally in return. And Vortex would certainly never give that to the youngling in compensation for everything else that he had ruined. Everybody knew it... everybody except Fireflight.

Stepping away slowly, Silverbolt turned to put laundry away in one of the other rooms, praying to Primus that his baby brother's fragile spark be spared such a shattering revelation.


	16. Blades and First Aid VIII

**Title: Blades and First Aid VIII**   
**Rating: M**

Time was running out.

There were only about several of them left in this room. Excluding himself, none of the others knew about the horrors waiting them but when their captives came from them, it would only take kliks before they were all dead. Since returning, First Aid had been counting; calculating with morbid focus how long it would take before the next sacrifice began. Digging another notch into the floor, the australian shepherd looked to his side, where the small youngling leaned against him, sleeping.

In a few cycles time, that peaceful autodog would know a hell like no other. How could he rest or even smile with that fate looming over his helm?

Though First Aid thought to rouse Fireflight, inform the younger mech about the beast that sat in its cage, ready to devour them, but he inevitably refrained. No point allowing the shih tzu to entertain the same nightmares that the vet himself now did. After all, there was still the chance that they may be saved... right?

Rationality squashed such a thought immediately. Even in medicine, any significant action that can be taken, must be done within the first twenty-four cycles, otherwise any misfortune could befall after. They had arrived in a number of about forty... now they were down to seven. Their captors obviously had to wait for periods of time between snatching up some of their victims, but even given that fact, it was apparent that the remaining handful of autodogs had been here longer than twenty-four cycles. Probably even longer than a week.

Long enough to be lost in the Enforcer system and considered a 'recovery mission' rather than a 'rescue.'

**xxXxXxx**

Licking his fangs shortly, the kittycon slunk closer, sniffing the air as he came that much closer to his prey. He was close enough that one leap and he could wrap his claws around that throat and _rip_ \- before another servo grabbed the back of his own neck cables and yanked him into the darkness once more.

"Just what do you think you are doing?," the low vocalizer demanded coolly, optics narrowed behind a red visor. Vortex looked back with his own bloody band, a cruel grin stretching wide across his face.

"I just wanted to say hello."

"Try it," the lion growled under his vents, "You will soon see how far my claws can reach those tender wires of yours."

The lynx laughed, wriggling his hips up toward the other mech. "Is that a promise, Razorclaw?," he cooed. "Say, would your brutish mate mind if you and me had a lil' frag?"

Razorclaw leaned forward more, ignoring the glossa that lapped quickly at the edge of his jaw. "Only if I brought your spike and fluid tanks home afterwards as her prize," he returned smartly, the corner of his lip component turning upwards with a tiny smirk.

At his statement, the grey mech scowled, resting flat against the wall. "You are absolutely no fun."

"Good," the predakitty said. He turned his helm to the side an inch, looking out the window; one servo still keeping Vortex pressed to the wall. "He's approaching an autodog- same attributes as the others."

Ears perking, the lynx slithered free in an astrosecond, peeking out another window along the empty hallway. His smile was utterly maniacal as he stared out the window at the mech they'd been tailing for only a cycle. "I knew he was a creepo," the younger mech vented eagerly, watching as their prey closed in on his own victim.

"I'm quite impressed you know the scent of your own kind," the predakitty shot back, surveying the area once more. There was no other 'bots in sight, but the sneaking autodog and the poor youngling he was already engaging in conversation.

"Ha, real funny, Simba. Bet you crack all the lil' hairballs up at home."

Razorclaw pushed away from the window, adjusting the satchel across his back carrying his beloved clawed gauntlets. "He's subdued the youngling and is on the move. We need to get higher and track his path. The others are counting on us." With a pedestep as silent as the air itself, the lion hurried up the dingy staircase to the roof; the lynx close behind him.

"A-hunting I will go, a-hunting I will go," Vortex singed, cackling shortly in between, "Hi-ho the derry-o, a-hunting I will go."

"Are you going to sing the entire trip?," the predakitty asked, the barest hint of annoyance in his tone. He opened the access door, stepping onto the roof. It took only a quick glance to spot the generic van the kidnapper was using as a get-away car.

The kittycon grinned, bloody visor flashing hungrily. "Right until the moment I'm ripping their throats open."

"Very good," Razorclaw remarked, using a pocket-sized spyglass to get a quick study of the vehicle and its plates. There wasn't any sarcasm in his words.

**xxXxXxx**

It sounded like it was thundering outside in the hallway. Groggily, the australian shepherd onlined his optics; staring first at the other victims then turning his attentions to the notches he made on the floor before passing out. Twenty notches. The food bowl had not been filled, but seeing as it was being used as a nest by a bunch of turborats, First Aid doubted he would eat anything out of it.

It probably wouldn't matter soon anyhow...

The large booming noise continued, getting louder and louder, joined by the weak whimpers and prayers that the younglings choked out as they pushed to disappear somewhere in their dark cell. Turning to the thin sliver of light now pouring in from beneath the door, the vet tried to make sense of what was happening. Twenty notches was a long time to be ignored... but now First Aid thought he understood why.

Crying, yelling, threats and thundering pedes.

Their captors had retrieved yet more victims to offer in some sick, sexual sadistic sacrifice to their 'God'.

"W-what... what's going on out there?," Fireflight whispered from just behind the older autodog. A tinge of terror highlighted his tone. Smugness, or something like it, made the vet almost feel glad to hear it. He shook it off though as he next heard guns cock and at least a dozen young voices disappear behind a slamming, iron door.

"Feed them and then collect everything," a cruel vocalizer ordered.

"And the others?"

The question, barely legible, still brought an absolute silence to their prison cell. Straining his ears, First Aid tried to listen, though he already knew the words that would follow.

"We need only wait for the last batch to arrive, and then we can proceed with the next ceremony."

Venting weakly, the australian shepherd shuttered his optics; a shaking fist gripping his elbow as the rest of his companions broke out into a series of hopeless whimpers.

**xxXxXxx**

Three cycles and one lonely van took them through Iacon, past the city border and into the state of Uraya. Along the way it picked up three more younglings -two femmes and one mechling- all white and caught unaware. There could be no doubt that this was their target and despite their evasive tactics, Razorclaw was not about to let them out of his sight.

"Vortex... heel," he commanded quietly, adjusting the spyglass. The predakitty could hear the lynx skulk around him, trying to see through the tree branches.

"No one tells me to heel," Vortex growled. "Put that damn optic scope down and let's move already. Those amateurs are slowing down."

The lion didn't even shutter an optic. "I know that. You also know our mission." He pocketed the spyglass, tightening the strap on his pack. "I suggest we keep to the trees. They'll notice if they're being tailed at this point."

"So let me just kill them!," the grey mech hissed, already moving across the branches, leaping in one, fluid bound to the other tree. His visor and grin glowed eerily from the space between the pines. "I can hi-jack that vehicle and spear those losers through the valve in two kliks! Less even!"

Razorclaw followed Vortex's lead, swinging to the branch above him and to the next tree over in a few moments. He glanced coolly at the younger mech. "Try anything and you will be gutted, cat," he said threateningly. "You were sent out to be a help, not a hindrance. Killing these fools in such an untimely fashion will not only be ineffective but it'll put the rest of the victims at risk. Do you understand what that means?"

The red band stared back in silence.

"It means," the lion pressed, "That they will all be killed before we can rescue them."

Vortex growled, fangs bared. "I get it," he replied. "Now shut it. While you were busy rambling, our lil' white van just opened a cute underground ramp and drove down. Looks like that's where they've been hiding out, like a horde of ugly, stupid goblins!"

Razorclaw took a look himself but saw nothing. Giving the area a quick scope, the orange mech scaled down the tree and dashed to the last spot he'd seen the van in. Vortex joined him a klik later, after he'd inspected the ground and surrounding vegetation. "There's an entire trapdoor situated here. Fairly well blended with the terrain, at least a couple decades old and decently crafted. I'd guess that it was built for military purposes back during the war."

The lynx did not respond, picking along the almost invisible seams of the door. "Rusty about the hinges, don'tcha think?"

"Abandoned," the other mech answered. "Don't bother opening it," he added as he saw the kittycon move to slide a claw under the dirt along the edge. A cruel visor looked up at him angrily. It wasn't anything Razorclaw hadn't seen before.

"It's been wired. You open that with any sort of force and you'll endanger every single autodog in there," he continued calmly. "This used to be some sort of lab or medical facility; a labyrinth of never-ending halls and levels, purposefully built to allow the 'bots within enough time to escape unhindered should one entrance be breached."

"... and?," Vortex demanded impatiently.

The lion unclipped a beacon, breaking the seal on it. Immediately, it started flashing. "And," he replied, pinning the lynx down with a firm stare, "We radio it in- just as Yoketron commanded- and wait for the others to arrive." He ignored the hiss that followed. "During which, we find and mark the other entrances."

It wasn't even an astrosecond before the lynx tore off in a mad dash, disappearing into the rest of the woods. Not concerned about where his partner had taken off to, Razorclaw planted the beacon into the grass before the hidden door; walking off in the other direction as he sent an encrypted message to Yoketron.

**xxXxXxx**

The steel door screeched like an injured beast as it was swung open; banging against the wall with a fearsome gong. Shivering and shaking, the other younglings jumped in fright, staring into the rectangle of light through tearful optics. This time they didn't scramble away -they already knew more victims had been collected and now their stay in this Primus-forsaken cell was over. They were as good as dead already.

With dim optics, First Aid watched as the first few mechs marched into the room, guns slung over one shoulder and their gazes terrifyingly merry. One by one, they snatched up a youngling, until it was only him left... him and Fireflight.

The shih tzu was being almost admirably brave. He sat patiently beside the older autodog, watching as the others were picked up first; one servo clenching the vet's forearm tightly. "I...i-it's almost like a bad dream t-that never ends, i-isn't it?," he whispered weakly.

First Aid said nothing.

Swallowing sharply, Fireflight's grip on him tightened as two more mechs came in to collect them next. "...i-is it quick?," the youngling asked, afraid.

It took him a moment, but the australian shepherd managed the tiniest of nods just before the two were yanked away from each other viciously. A lie... but even a lie was better than the reality the poor shih tzu would face in a few kliks. Miraculously keeping his tears at bay, Fireflight was yanked out of the room first; his gaze turned away from the mech lecherously looking him over.

"Glad to have you join us at the ceremony once more," husked First Aid's tormentor. His claws tightened about the back of the autodog's neck cables. "Perhaps, you are the special one we've been looking for..."

The vet merely walked forward in time with his captor's stride, praying that this would be the last time he would have to endure this.

**xxXxXxx**

This was maddening!

Back and forth, back and forth... He paced and paced and paced, unable to do anything else. His thoughts were clouded with dark things, painted in magenta with the vicious images of victims passed. Was his brother even alive? …. Had he failed again?

Blades ran a thumb up and down the face of his dagger, unable to stop moving or even be a help at any capacity. He was being eaten alive with worry, fear, hatred, grief... trapped in a cell of his own after he had tried to run off. 'An endangerment to all', that's what Yoketron had called him. Well, frag that old mutt! Searching for First Aid was not endangering anyone.

Slag, staying here, pretending that research would help them find the missing autodogs, was what would kill his baby brother! How could no one understand that?!

Hissing, Blades stopped his pacing, looking down at the energon dripping from his fist. Carefully he opened up his fingers, pulling the dagger out with his other servo, watching with a scowl at the vicious gashes he'd made in his absent-mindedness. Physical pain meant nothing to him -he'd suffered plenty just to have his family back before. The bull terrier wasn't about to lose anyone else again.

"Blades..."

Jumping, the autodog spun around, alarmed to see Yoketron standing in the doorway to the room. He'd never heard the door open, let alone the kai ken enter... but then again, the old mutt was good at stuff like that. Glowering, the bull terrier was about to open his mouth when the Special Ops officer beat him to the punch.

"We've found their base. The others are heading for the trucks now," he informed.

Optics flaring, Blades bolted for the door, flying past the older mech who stepped out of his way politely. Smiling, thoughwith a little twinge of regret at the circumstances they were in, Yoketron turned and followed the mercenary's path to the garage below.

**xxXxXxx**

It was amazing that, though he had only walked the path once before, First Aid could easily remember every step to the beast's chamber. The others had no clue where they were going but they were terrified -they whimpered and cried and prayed to themselves, all except the little shih tzu that was a few feet ahead of him. Fireflight held his helm up, fists clenched, shaking minutely here and there. He was silent, just as the vet was, but for reasons entirely different. What faith did he keep that could spare him from the same fear as the others?

Pondering on such an insignificant matter actually distracted the australian shepherd for a time; he was only broken from his daze when a kittycon rushed up to the group from the other direction. "S-stop," he panted, coming to a halt at the first captor.

"What's going on?," one of their escorts demanded. The others cocked their guns, pointing them at the autodogs, making sure their sheep stayed in place.

The new-comer cycled air quickly. "One of the sensors registered a presence outside the West gates. We've been ordered to move out immediately."

Curses swept across the group; the younglings look back and forth uncertainly. A 'presence'? What did that mean?

The leader of the group turned around, growling. "Get them to the trucks at the South-East gates," he ordered. He paused to look at the mech that had brought them the news. "You go round up the others; we'll move out the new batch and-"

An earthquake rocked the entire area, sending the younglings to the ground with screams of terror. Cursing some more, their captors quickly regained their own pedes, shouldering their weapons. "Move it!," the leader barked, grabbing younglings and yanking them up and shoving them towards his comrades. "This isn't a drill!"

First Aid was grabbed by the back of his neck again, twisted around and pulled in the other direction. "What if we're short hands?," someone asked as the group was turned around. "Some of these pups are fragging slow!"

"If they don't move quickly enough on their own," a voice growled somewhere behind the australian shepherd, "Then blast a load in the back of their helms and MOVE ON!"

The other victims screamed, breaking out in horrified sobbing. Tears turned to shrieks as another earthquake rocked the entire floor, sending them into moments of pure darkness as the lights flickered above their helms. First Aid felt a frame smack into his backstruts and knew by the grasping servos it was Fireflight.

"W-we... we have to keep moving," the shih tzu whispered close to the vet's chin. "We're g-going to get out of here, j-just keep fighting a l-little longer! P-please?"

The hallway was lit again as the shaking came to a rest, their captors quickly grabbing elbows and dragging the younglings along as they broke out into a dash. Tripping, trying to keep up, First Aid broke free from his dead-like state like shattering glass. Gasping, his optics flared to life brightly, finally letting everything sink in.

They were supposed to be getting raped at this moment...

They had been set to be stripped of all last dignity, hope and belief, then fed to a beast...

Now they were running through halls, shoved along by the same mechs that had imprisoned them, while the walls and ceilings shook with fearful tremors.

Escaping...

The whole floor shook again, sending them into pitch-black for a few astroseconds. Moving fast, First Aid reached behind himself, grabbing the servo that was reaching for him at the same time. The instant their fingers clasped the other's, the vet bolted; pushing past the mech in front of him and racing down the hallway.

"HEY! They're escaping!," a vocalizer shouted behind them. "Shoot! SHOOT!"

Gunfire sounded as another explosion rocked the area, bullets zinging past and ricocheting away harmlessly. First Aid did not stop running, even when the lights went out for good this time, and he ran blindly through the darkness for a klik before emergency lights blossomed along the floor. His vents were hurting, his legs sore from a long period of inactivity, and he could feel Fireflight wheezing and struggling to keep up behind him, but the australian shepherd kept pushing forward, knowing that there was no way to go back now.

They were finally being rescued! They couldn't die now!

"L...," the shih tzu panted weakly behind him, "L-look! There's more coming from u-up ahead!"

First Aid realized too late what the youngling was pointing too. A larger group, at least two dozen autodogs in similar physical appearance and their twenty or so armed escorts, turned into their corridor from one of the doorways. The kittycons at the front spotted them and they slung their guns forward without hesitation.

"We've got runaways!," one shouted.

Panicking, the vet tried to turn them away, but it was too late. A pair of servos lashed out of nowhere it seemed, grabbing First Aid by the throat, choking off his yip of surprise. "N-no!," Fireflight managed to shout before he too was silenced; picked up and pinned under an bulldog's arm.

"Keep moving!," the mech holding the australian shepherd bellowed, turning into another hallway near to them. "Everyone needs to get into the trucks NOW!"

His captor didn't get far before they were suddenly thrown back into the main corridor; fire, wind and thunder howling up the hallway with monstrous force. Shaking on rubbery limbs, First Aid pulled himself out from under the limp mech, swaying dangerously as the world shook around him. He hurt, from helm to pede and there was a high-pitched ringing in his ears, but he was alive. Still alive. Coughing at the rise of ash and grit, the vet looked around blearily, struggling to make sense of what was going on for an astrosecond.

There was light -real light- pouring in via spots in the ceiling and walls; meshing with the black-scorched rubble and bloody glow of the emergency lights like a child's kaleidoscope. Shaking in desperate disbelief, First Aid hurried to stand, collapsing face-first when his legs were not ready to hold him up. There was the sound of someone running up the hallway the autodog had been blasted from and without hesitation, he lifted his helm up, coolant glazing his optics as his gaze fell on the lynx skidding to a halt in the doorway.

The sight of him sent his spark pulsing faster and faster, until he thought it would actually leap out of his throat. Opening his mouth, servos lifting, he smiled, ready to call for his savior and be swept up into strong arms.

"Vortex!"

The cheerful, relieved cry of joy was not his own. Frozen, he watched as the lynx ripped out the throat of an autodog tormentor getting up, leaping over both him and the corpse as it hit the ground before him, not even noticing the australian shepherd as he rushed farther back into the hallway. Despite his processor protesting against the action, First Aid turned his helm, staring wide-opticed as Fireflight -the younger mech he'd selflessly sacrificed himself for- was scooped up into the lynx's hold; face disappearing as it pressed into the other's chestplates, his arms barely long enough to wrap around Vortex's thick neck.

He couldn't think.

Couldn't feel...

The world started to slow down; all of reality losing sense and place. That was supposed to be him being held, a faint voice yelled, he was supposed to be the one rescued by the kittycon and clutched tightly in desperate relief. He was supposed to be the one Vortex wanted...

He couldn't even muster up enough emotion to be indignant.

First Aid could only stare, void of tears or begs or pain or anger, wondering briefly why he even bothered any more. Surely, life had proven how worthless he was of everything it had to offer. Slowly, he finally started to twist his helm away from the sight of the younger autodog planting tearful kisses to the well-receiving kittycon's cheekplates.

"AID!"

Only to be faced with Blades, frame sprayed with energon, kicking aside corpses as he shoved past fleeing captives, just to stumble into the room. His face was twisted with worry but as his gaze landed on the australian shepherd, a wide, childish grin started to spread across his cheekplates; his optics bright and glazed with overwhelming joy. Immediately, First Aid choked.

Scrambling to his pedes, he fled from the room, pushing himself into the crushing throng of autodog hostages as they all swarmed -crying, shouting, stomping- for the exits and freedom.

He never looked back once.

**xxXxXxx**

Why...?

Blades watched from across the lot as one of his Wrecker comrades gently took First Aid off to the side, wrapping a blanket around the trembling mech's shoulders and leading him to one of the field vet's they had with them. Seeing how willingly First Aid went along with this stranger -tail tucked between his thighs, helm hung low as he clutched the blanket close to his shivering frame- when he was so obviously terrified out of his processor, made a sick, roiling hatred boil up inside of Blades.

Why? He wondered with growing rage. Why did the australian shepherd trust mere strangers and not him, who'd come in, all heroic-like, just to save his brother alone? Wasn't he supposed to be his 'knight'?!

The urge to reach for his daggers and slit the throats of those surrounding First Aid grew stronger. Quickly, Blades ripped his helm away from the sight of his brother sitting meekly before a fellow vet, cycling a shaky intake; trying to calm himself down.

"...you are worried."

"What the-" Blades snarled, whirling around to the idiot who had decided to step into his personal space. "Oh... it's you...," he grumbled, prying his servos off of his weapons' hilts and turning his helm away from Yoketron. "What do you want, you old exhaust port?"

The Special Ops officer took no offense to the insult, knowing that Blades never meant any true malice with his words. At least... not when those statements were directed at family and friends. "I only came to talk to you...," Yoketron elaborated. His gaze changed from the troubled bull terrier, to the australian shepherd being looked over by their capable vets. "He ran away from you..."

The younger autodog stiffened at the other's words; his optics glaring at the old mech and fangs baring in warning. "Shut it..."

Yoketron ignored him. "It's never something you see coming... They put their trust in you, look up to you, but, if you are not careful, they eventually lose faith in you." The old mech sighed. "It is a terrible pain, when you lose the light of those whom you most needed it from."

"S...shut it..."

"I am sorry, Blades, that you must experience this. But, listen to an elder for once: do not take this to mean that he has forsaken you, Blades," Yoketron continued. "First Aid will still need you, just as much as you need him. Yet, you must be patient. He is feeling very vulnerable right now; scared and no doubt confused. You mustn't let your fear of rejection keep you from being there for your brother. You-"

Blades snapped.

He whirled around, grabbing Yoketron by the throat and slamming him into the side of the nearest armoured vehicle. "YOU KNOW NOTHING! YOU HEAR ME!?," he screamed at the Special Ops officer, ripping a dagger free from his belt and pressing its sharp edge up against the other's neck cables. Yoketron merely shuttered his optics, unaffected by this aggressive show of violence.

Seeing how nonchalant he was, only pissed Blades off more. "YOU'RE JUST SOME STUPID, SON OF A GLITCH WHO LIKES STICKING HIS FACE INTO OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS WHERE IT DON'T BELONG," he bellowed, pressing down on the blade harder, just enough to draw a line of energon. "I'M SICK OF YOUR MIND GAMES AND I'M SICK OF YOUR STUPID ZEN SLAG AND I'M FRAGGING SICK OF ALL THIS DUMB, STUPID, MESSED-UP, FRAGGING-"

"Blades! S-stop! D-don't hurt him! P-please, do-don't-"

"BACK OFF YOU GLITCH!" Blades whirled around, back-handing the 'bot who had the audacity to try and grab his arm. There was a small, broken yelp as the individual fell to the ground, before a strained silence descended over the surrounding group.

Spark catching in his throat, the bull terrier shuttered his optics, trying to speak through the dread filling his tanks. "F...First A-aid...?"

"Tackle him!"

"Yield soldier!"

Blades hit the ground hard as he was suddenly tackled from behind, Onslaught and Blast Off wrestling his weapons from his servos and pinning him down with their collected mass. He snarled and writhed under them indignantly, only receiving a sharp jab to his spinal struts and another shove into the dirt as his reward. "Calm the frag down, soldier! You have no enemies here!," Onslaught growled above him.

The autodog opened his mouth to curse the older mech out when he saw Yoketron brush aside all concerned 'bots, walking cautiously toward his brother. First Aid still cupped his cheekplate, his face turned towards the dirt and shoulder plating hunched high about his ears. He shook like a leaf, half-curled into himself, as small whimpers quietly escaped him.

First Aid... he was crying... He had hit him. He had hurt First Aid and made him cry.

"A...aid!," Blades choked, squirming, trying to get out from under the two kittycons. He arched out his neck, a low whine building up in his vocalizer. "A-aid! I-i'm sorry! I'm s-sorry, Aid! I d-didn't mean to do it, Aid! I-i'd n-never hurt you Aid! P-please! 'Aid! I-i'm so s-sorry!"

Nobody said anything. Gently grasping the vet's trembling shoulders, Yoketron helped First Aid to his pedes, shielding the traumatized autodog from sight until he had escorted him all the way back to the convoy. Only after First Aid had been handed back over to the other vets and shut away inside the vehicle, was Blades finally released. He scrambled to his pedes immediately, trying to make a run for the truck, but a fast servo caught him by the back of the neck, dragging him away to one of the other vans.

"...I'm sorry, soldier," Onslaught gruffly apologized as he yanked a limp Blades to an armoured truck, "But you've wasted all your chances tonight."

He couldn't even think to be angry; suddenly, didn't know how to be enraged. The serval was right -he'd blown it. Clambering to the very back of the truck, Blades sat with his back to the others, burying his helm in his knees, feeling as if the world was shattering around his ears. Because, for a second time in his life, he'd failed again.


	17. Dinobots III

**C.M.D: After so long, it's nice to finally wrap up things for these two ^ ^**

**Title: Dinobots III**   
**Rating: M**   
**Warning: Incest  
**

He'd grown a lot.

Grimlock set down a large crate, paying no mind to the thunderous boom it made as it hit the skid. His attention was fixed across the dock to the gaggle of autodogs, and even some kittycons, gathered closer to the gates and the security office. Whatever they were saying, he couldn't hear from this distance, not that he was sure he wanted to anyway.

"Hey! Grimlock," a voice shouted. The autowolf could not tear his optics away from the crowd trying to discretely study something. "Grimlock. GRIMLOCK!"

Grunting, the mech turned around, scowling at the dock manager. The mech tried not to be intimidated by the bigger autowolf and for that, Grimlock almost respected him. "Your shift's done -you can head home now if you want," the manager informed. "Better do it before anymore of my mechs get distracted."

The autowolf was slightly confused by that last statement, but as soon as the autodog pointed across the docks to the whispering crowd, Grimlock understood. Grabbing his dufflebag from the staff warehouse, the wolf marched across the dock, shoving through the crowd of slacking workers with a growl; pleased to see them scatter immediately. Covering his smirk up, the large mech faced the office, unsurprised to find a thin wolf being chatted up by the security guard.

"Swoop," Grimlock called gruffly, "We go home."

Immediately, the thin wolf by the office turned towards him and the older autowolf was stunned, as he was most orns, by how much his younger brother had grown. The stellar cycles had been most generous to Swoop, taking short, fragile limbs and transforming them into long, lithe legs and arms; still strong and flexible. His waistline had tapered out, lending to a gentle hourglass shape, his fur vibrant, lush and healthy. His fingers were long and slender, with sharp claws, and even his face had elongated -but eloquently- centering his almond-shaped optics and thin, tender mouth.

There was no doubt that Swoop had become an icon of beauty and desire, as he'd turned from pup to full-grown mech. And now every autodog and kittycon with too much brazen wanted to get closer to his baby brother. Frowning further as he recalled this, Grimlock looked down on the other wolf as he padded up to him, lost in thought.

"Brother Grimlock," Swoop addressed politely, helm canted slightly, "Not angry with me Swoop are you? You Grimlock forget lunch; me Swoop thought to bring it to you Grimlock."

"Me... Grimlock, not... angry," the Alpha male grumbled through his growing ire. He could see the security guard trying to discretely adjust the surrounding cameras onto his brother's aft from this distance. "Just... thinking. Come. Me Grimlock done now; we go home."

Swoop nodded, falling into step behind the larger wold, as tribal hierarchy would dictate.

Grimlock didn't like it. He hadn't minded when Swoop was a sparkling and had taken up studying common autowolf traditions and tribal protocols -especially after his short kidnapping- but he'd grown displeased with it as his brother changed entirely. Gone were the orns of the alpha male receiving hugs or silly, little gifts; of being told endless cycles of tales and shared every smile or laugh or hope.

Now Grimlock got silence and reserved attention...

Venting softly (because nothing he could say or do would get Swoop to walk up beside him or talk to him about his orn) Grimlock continued his march home; the smaller autowolf padding a few feet behind his heels.

**xxXxXxx**

It was dawn once again. Scraping the grit off his optics with one claw, the autowolf pushed himself up off the berth, looking around the room blearily. He could smell food and it made his fuel tanks rumble with hunger -but it was dead silent within the cottage. Before he even stepped out of the room, Grimlock knew that meant that Swoop had already left for the orn.

Where? Well... even the mech didn't really know...

Working fourteen cycles an orn meant that Grimlock couldn't keep track of Swoop like he wanted to, and Snarl had left them a few stellar cycles back to pursue his own life further into the wilderness. All the oldest autowolf knew was that when he came home, Swoop would have all the chores finished, groceries bought, and even dinner waiting for him. Easily forgettable deeds to a mech who worried non-stop about the smaller 'bot all the same.

Grabbing a wash clothe and giving his faceplates a quick wipe, the Alpha male sat down at the table, lifting the lids off of the several plates left out for him. Swoop had probably spent a whole cycle cooking up this hearty meal for him, and just as usual, his little brother would have eaten only a bowl of it all. Apparently tribal rule dictated that subservient 'bots were not to share the same meals as the Alpha. Oh, how Grimlock hated those books Swoop insisted on reading.

Well, there was nothing to be done for it. The sun was rising higher now; in a little while, the autowolf would need to head for the docks and back to the work that fed them and gave them a home.

**xxXxXxx**

Most would be aware of optics following your every step, and though Swoop still was, he did not feel it in the same pin-prickly fashion that most people did. They were optics. Simply put. Unless it was an opaque pair behind green glass, the autowolf would pay them no attention. After all, he had duties to take care of: cooking, cleaning, training... All to be better. Because he had to become better, especially after things had been ruined for him.

It had been such a long time now, but the lithe mech could still see it in his older brother's optics -the shame he saw when he gazed upon Swoop, the imperfection and brokenness that he now was. Grimlock had made many promises over the stellar cycles, but they were merely words. The Alpha male could not undo the tattered edges of the younger autowolf's seal nor could he pass his brother onto a worthy mate. Swoop had lost his chance at being wanted by any 'bot now.

Yet, he could still be worth something as long as he worked hard.

Ignoring the consistent glances he was receiving from the cashier, Swoop paid for his groceries; packing them in his basket, nice and neat, before leaving the store. The autowolf was already processing the list of things he had finished and had yet to finish, glancing at the midday sun to determine the exact time of orn. The mech was in luck- he had plenty of time to gut Grimlock's catch from that morning and prepare a portion of the meat for dinner.

He hoped his brother would be pleased with t-

"'Ey, baby, where ya come from? With a frame like that, I bet yer an angel from heaven."

Swoop paused at the catcall, turning his helm slightly. A portly kittycon leaned against a store window, lip components quirked up in one corner, his optics glinting with something that the autowolf did not care for. If he confessed, the look this stranger gave him made Swoop's circuits crawl a little.

"So, sweet lips, ya got a name or do I gotta smooch it outta ya?," the stranger asked, waggling his optic-brows at the thinner mech.

Swoop did not reply.

"Ya the silent type as well as the wild type, eh?," the kittycon continued. He scanned Swoop over from top to bottom. "That sort o' beastly look really suits a honey like ya. Looks reeeeal nice." The oaf even winked.

Shuttering his optics slowly, the autowolf turned and walked away, blocking out anything else that the kittycon said to his back.

**xxXxXxx**

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

The woods were silent for a beautiful summer's midday, with the exception of a short whistle of wind and the ever constant thud as blade cut through trunk. Hefting his axe higher, Grimlock swung down on the tree stump once again, cutting it into halves, then thirds and finally quarters before laying his tool down for a moment. A layer of coolant coated his plating from helm to pede, but the Alpha male did not mind. It meant he was doing hard work, good work, and the more wood he chopped now, the larger their stockpile would be come the winter.

The simple autodogs and kittycons might find it foolish he was doing this task a whole season too soon, but seeing as how the dock work kept him away for so many cycles in an orn, it was essential Grimlock amass a large enough collection before the weather got colder. If Snarl was still with them, the autowolf would have left the task to him to manage come winter. Alas, he was not and there was no way that Swoop, with his delicate frame, could cut firewood as effectively and as diligently as his older brothers could. And Grimlock would not allow the smaller mech to suffer in cold because of his own carelessness.

Butchering another tree to good, burning chunks, he wiped his brow and put the axe in its rightful place by the cabin before marching inside. Already, Swoop had a pitcher of refreshing oil-aid prepared and sitting on the table, alongside the older mech's giant pitcher of a glass. Cleaning his servos with the available rag, Grimlock scoped the place quickly to see where the younger autowolf was.

His spark was soothed when he saw that Swoop was sitting in the living room, lost deep within another domestic project. The Alpha male wasn't entirely sure what the other mech was doing but knowing Swoop, his craft homework would result in some sort of rug, or blanket or cushion for use around the cabin. Whatever the end product, the thin autowolf had beautiful, talented servos. He wove thread and needle like a master, gracing those digits through fur and leather delicately. Swoop did not even mind skinning and tanning the animals Grimlock brought home after a successful hunt. He was, in every sense of the word, a great autowolf.

Grimlock only wished his brother could see that himself, instead of constantly holding him subservient to the larger mech.

Finishing the pitcher, the Alpha male returned outside to complete his quota of chopping.

**xxXxXxx**

The sun bore down on the town today, creating waves of heat that were almost suffocating. This sort of weather called for a lighter fair of clothing- though the autowolf did feel somewhat fairly exposed in his summer dress and shorts. Glancing around at the others momentarily, Swoop tried to ignore the frequent looks he was getting; desperate to focus on the baskets of fruit laid out in front of the farmer's truck.

Copper-peaches were in season again- they were Grimlock's favourite, especially when baked in a pie. If he hurried, he could make a pie for tonight's dinner. It would taste wonderful alongside the roasted boar he had planned.

"Hey, babe." A shadow fell over Swoop as he reached farther down to check the fruit sitting in a basket in the far back. "Ya look mighty fine in that dress of yer's. Ya got a mechfriend?"

Swoop straightened up, claws wrapped around a peach, looking behind himself uncertainly. The kittycon was back, looming in so close that the autowolf could see the dirt smudged into the other's seams. That, coupled in with the stale odour of wasted coolant and oil, was enough to make the slimmer mech crinkle his olfactory sensor in repulsion.

"So, ya gotta name or what?," the green mech pressed. "Ya never told me yet and I think it's unfair."

"...You stranger demand much yet give nothing in return," Swoop replied softly, trying to wiggle out from between the baskets and the kittycon.

Optics flaring dimwittedly, it took a few astroseconds before the stranger responded, but he was quick to trap the other mech when he did. "A'ight then," he grinned lecherously, "Name's Mixmaster. Pals call me Mix for short. Now how's 'bout a drink, hm?"

An arm slid its way across his shoulders, pulling the autowolf close against his own will. "N-not interested," Swoop quickly stuttered out, squirming minutely. His plating was crawling, circuits itching, feeling the air starting to escape his vents faster and faster, to the point that it felt like he was almost choking.

"C'mon," the other crooned, "It'll be fun!" Red optics were watching him, studying him, roving up and down his frame.

Swoop tried not to look, tried not to remember, but all he could see was green amidst the red glow and he was beginning to feel colder by the minute. What happened to the summer heat? Where was the farmer and the townspeople and the birds and the trees and his strong brother...

"G-g..."

"Hmm?," Mixmaster grunted, snatching the peach choking in the autowolf's strangling grasp. He chomped into the sweet fruit, spraying juices down his chin. "Ya say something doll face?"

"D-d... "Swoop shivered as he was held tighter against the kittycon, fangs showing as the fat mech actually dared to lean in; lips poised to steal a kiss. Snapping out of his daze, the slim 'bot grabbed Mixmaster's wrist, twisting it and breaking free in astroseconds.

"Y-YOOOOOWW!" The green mech yelped loudly, clutching his injured wrist as the autowolf strutted away casually, not even sparing the kittycon a backwards glance.

"Me Swoop apologize for indecency," he said to the farmer, paying him the appropriate credit for the fruit.

"U-um, no, that's... that's alright," the farmer replied, taking the money. "You, uh, take care." Nodding, Swoop quickly left the vendor's stand, heading back towards home and safety.

Or so he thought.

**xxXxXxx**

He couldn't believe it. No, it couldn't be.

Grimlock paced back and forth angrily, fighting with an insatiable urge to destroy something -anything. If it would even distract him from his thoughts, yet it seemed highly unlikely. How could Swoop though? A kittycon, REALLY? Kittycons were weak, foul-smelling creatures. They were more pathetic than their wild counterparts. Even autodogs were barely passable choices, better still than any kittycon. And after that time...

How could Swoop even want such a type of mech?!

Snorting in rage, Grimlock paced faster; fists clenching open and close at his side, and mouth twisting in several different grimaces. He couldn't stand for this, wouldn't! It was beyond ridiculous, yet he couldn't just yell at the younger mech. His brother was weak, soft -no doubt there'd be some sort of stupid tribal law that dictated Swoop throw himself on a knife or something just because he upset the Alpha male. But he couldn't just let this matter be either!

Did he dare talk to him? Should Grimlock try that 'sitting down and discussing' thing Snarl used to suggest from time to time?

Really though, a kittycon...?!

The door opened and the autowolf froze immediately, turning his helm to the doorway. Swoop looked slightly taken aback that Grimlock was home so early this orn, but he kept to routine, greeting his brother with a polite bow and lowered optics. "Greeting, brother Grimlock. Me Swoop sorry dinner not yet prepared. Will start right away."

"No...," the Alpha male slowly growled out. His visor flashed darkly; the other's only warning. "You Swoop will explain self!"

"E... explain?" There was hesitation. "B-brother Grimlock, what you mean?"

The larger mech snarled, grabbing Swoop's wrist and yanking him forward. "This!," he shouted, pointing to the greasy fingerprints speckled across the smaller one's bare shoulders and arm.

Swoop seem startled the marks were even there himself, but he quickly veiled himself behind a curtain of subservience, dropping his helm. "T-they are no-nothing, brother Grimlock. Just-"

"Nothing?! NOTHING?!" Grimlock shook his brother hard, causing the other to drop his things and yelp sharply. "You Swoop call that NOTHING?!" He threw the younger autowolf against the wall, kicking and throwing any object between them out of the way. Grimlock did not care where they were sent flying to or if they broke. He was rage personified- hot, boiling and jealous.

"You Swoop let weak kittycon all over you Swoop! You Swoop let him touch! You Swoop are weak for picking such horrible mates!"

Swoop stood up shakily, back pressed against the wall. "Y-you... You Grimlock saw? Today? But-"

"Yes, me Grimlock saw." The Alpha growled under his intakes. He had to remain calm. He had to- "Me Grimlock thought you Swoop were better."

"No, brother Grimlock," Swoop tried to explain, "You Grimlock see wrong. It not-"

But the larger mech would not let him cut him off. "Me Grimlock thought you Swoop stay away from those types after that tabby! Me Grimlock should not have been so stupid. Are you Swoop whore now too?," he snapped, drawing closer, "Do you Swoop give self to every mech slobbering kisses over you? Are you Swoop like filthy autodog? ARE YOU?!" His fist went flying through the air at the last of his bellow, cracking into the wall beside his brother's helm. Fangs bared, Grimlock stared quietly on Swoop, cringing within.

...that was uncalled for...

He shouldn't have said that. He shouldn't have, but-

The autowolf loomed over the smaller one, venting heavily, claws digging into the wood paneling on the walls. Underneath his massive arms, Swoop shuttered his optics, looking up at his brother mutely. Not a word; not a single reaction. Despite everything he'd just said and done... Grimlock snarled, punching the wall again, unmindful of the wood that pierced his servo as it broke through to the other side.

"Why you Swoop not fight back?! Why you Swoop not say anything bad to me Grimlock!? You Swoop coward?!," he shouted, quickly losing his temper again.

This wasn't the way he had expected it to go; this was not the way he wanted to handle things... The situation was rapidly slipping out of his control and he was feeling worse and worse as his guilt increased, inadvertently fueling his rage. Slaggit, he wanted to erase the image of his brother in that other mech's embrace from his helm! He wanted to be the only one to hold him, to have him, just as Swoop had wanted.

...stellar cycles... ago...

Growling as nothing was said still from the younger autowolf, Grimlock tore away, fists shaking at his sides. "Swoop go then," he commanded lowly. "If you Swoop find mate, you Swoop have no more place here. This me Grimlock's territory."

Only silence.

Then: "...does you Grimlock not accept me Swoop?"

The Alpha male turned his helm, staring at his younger brother in confused disbelief. "What you...?"

Swoop canted his helm slightly, lowering his ears in submissive fashion. "You Grimlock not want... Then me Swoop was broken. No mate want after but you brother still kind...," the thin mech quietly explained, "Me Swoop study hard. Be good wolf; make worth of me Swoop despite having no sanction no more. Learn how to be best mate... but you Grimlock not care. Not like. You Grimlock not take me Swoop, even though me Swoop offered many times..."

This time, the younger wold lowered his gaze entirely; his posture slacking a tad following his sombre confession. Grimlock noticed, but he was still trying to make sense of what had been said, that he was unable to act at that moment. Swoop would not wait though. As the silence dragged on for a full klik, the thin mech turned to flee and the older wolf was forced to respond.

"Wait!"

Swoop froze at the servo that wrapped around his arm, his self-taught training making him turn docile in the Alpha male's grasp. Grimlock vented softly, a little irked at his brother's instantaneous meekness, but not wishing to escalate the problem further.

"You... you Swoop change," he said slowly, trying to choose his words carefully. "To different way, to try and be good wolf? For... me Grimlock?"

The younger mech lifted his helm, glancing back at the bigger wolf before nodding slowly. Again, Grimlock sighed -heavier this time- enough that his shoulders sagged. "You Swoop silly... You Swoop never no good. Not waste. You Swoop made crime to... was never you Swoop's fault," Grimlock informed gently, "Swoop, better before change. Me Grimlock miss... hugs and... gifts... and you Swoop's little love..."

"Me Grimlock sorry me not kill vile cat and for failing to protect you Swoop."

It was Swoop's turn to be surprised. Narrow optics flared in alarm and the smaller autowolf ripped himself free from his brother's hold; hugging himself loosely. Grimlock did not mind. Emotion -of any kind- was what he wanted to see, rather than silent indifference. Walking up to the younger wolf, the Alpha male pinned the startled Swoop to the wall gently; nudging his forehead with the bridge of his olfactory sensor.

"Me Grimlock say: come on, you Swoop," he rumbled softly, hoping to incite another reaction from his brother. "Show me Grimlock true autowolf pride."

A change came over the mech below him him, so small and so subtle that the older autowolf almost would have missed it entirely if it weren't for the mouth that came crashing towards his own, as he was shoved away from the wall. Growling pleasantly, Grimlock moved to grab the other's delicate waist and found the slender frame dancing away from his fingertips.

Visor winking in bafflement, the Alpha male looked towards Swoop, circuits humming as he saw the coy expression on his face. It wasn't a smile as he had been hoping for, but it was smirk -albeit small- flirtatious and dangerously beautiful on the other's usually stoic face. And it was all his.

"If you Grimlock want...," Swoop declared softly, vocalizer rich and confident, "You Grimlock must hunt."

And then he was flying out the cottage door, long, thin legs carrying him over bushes and around trees, like the common vixen that pranced through the woods. Dots connecting in his helm, Grimlock grinned toothily, roaring his acceptance of the challenge and rushing to partake in the good-natured hunt.

He ran and he gave chase. It was fun, it was exhilarating; it made his energon burn and hunger grow. Crashing through trees, almost running on his servos and pedes, clawing through the brush as he rushed to get closer. Sometimes he managed to draw nearer -but it was a ploy, part of the game. He only got closer because the other allowed it, taunting and teasing, encouraging their play.

If he could just catch him, how sweet the reward would be.

And finally, he did, catching the lithe autowolf as he tried to take a daring, nimble leap to the right. Sweeping him right out of the air, the two tumbled and rolled away, coming to a pause on a bed of trampled long grass. Panting, they stared at each other intensely: the hunter on top, his prey beneath.

No, not prey. A prize. The best prize ever.

Large claws slid from trembling wrists down slender arms, mapping out the terrain of the other's gently slopping chestplates, frail waist and luscious fur. When he'd gone around once, he returned to the smaller autowolf's chestplates; resting a servo over his spark chamber. The clothe of the other's shirt ruffled between his claws- such a nuisance. Shame in nakedness was an autodog belief, forced upon everyone and brainwashing them to hate and fear the sacredness that was bare plating and its appearance. There was nothing wrong with nakedness; nothing wrong with interfacing.

Nothing wrong...

He spoke these words gently to his prize, forehelms bumping together as he soothed the fear out of those optics. Evil deeds had made the smaller autowolf ashamed, afraid and distrustful of even his own plating. That was an evil even greater than the broken seal he bore.

The hunter would fix that though. He would show him, laying him down in the soft grass again; dying rays of the sun slipping through the thick foliage, highlighting the forest in a golden glow and shimmering like fire in those uncertain, hopeful optics.

Fire that radiated in the other's spark, bolder than any star that ever lit the heavens above. It burned and cooled and called for him, imploding like a nebulon when connected with his own and shaming all the Cosmos and Gods that be with the brilliance it created. It made everything complete. Finally.

Perfectly.

The night was bright, filled with the stars and the fertile moon; the eternal witness as the hunter's howl pierced the heavens above.


	18. Inferno and Red Alert II

**Title: Inferno and Red Alert II**   
**Rating: T**

"...I-i don't want to go back there..."

"You have to."

"B-but, I-"

"No buts. You have to."

"B-b-bu-but-!"

"'Red!," Sideswipe growled, facing the smaller doberman. "Listen, I get that you don't want to go back to the school. You made a complete fool of yourself yesterday, which is not the kind of start I wanted for you or me. But if we can't make things work out here then we've got nowhere left to go to! Do you get that?!"

Swallowing back a whimper, Red Alert nodded slowly, looking to the ground. "I-i'm sorry, S-sides, I..." The younger mech tapered off, sniffling as guilt crushed him.

Sighing, Sideswipe glanced around quickly but the dirt road was void of any nosy villagers. Seeing that the coast was clear, he yanked his triplet toward him, hugging him tightly with one arm. "'Red...," he spoke softly, "I know that if you could control it, you would. Don't blame yourself, ok. Just... we just gotta do what the psychiatrist's are always telling you to: find a good focus point and keep on it. Don't let the bad thoughts get into your bubble. Right?"

His brother gave a meek, little nod.

"And for the record, I totally would of let you stay at home today myself," the older autodog added. "At least until lunch or so. 'Til you'd calmed more. But mom makes the rules and what mom says..."

"Goes," Red Alert finished quietly. He vented heavily himself. "I-i know. M-mom just wants m-me to do w-well. I k-know..."

"Yeah, well," the black doberman released his brother, giving him a nudge, "Don't focus on that too much. You gotta do it for yourself, or you'll never get anywhere." He turned to continue walking, Red Alert falling in behind him.

"B-but I m-messed up s-so bad yesterday. Y-you said so yourself Sideswipe!," the red mech whimpered. "H-how am I g-gonna make any sort o-of friends now...?"

Sideswipe glanced back at his triplet, struggling to find anything that would at least put his brother's spirits back into calmer states before they reached the school. "Why don't you join the athletics team? Or, like, one of those nerdy clubs you always like?"

"W-wh-wha?! N-no way!," Red Alert shrieked, shaking his helm furiously in protest. "I-i-i'm n-not g-good at sp-sports like you a-and S-sunstreaker! E-everyone w-will m-make m-more fun of m-me if I d-do that!"

"Well-" The sound of a school bell interrupted Sideswipe. He looked down the road, catching a glimpse of the forlorn flag pole and its limp banner, before turning his optics to his watch. "Huh... That's the early bell," the larger doberman commented. "We've got about five more kliks to get to class or we'll be la- Woah! HEY!"

Sideswipe wiped the dust from his optics as he glared at his brother's fading back; grumbling to himself as he only increased his pace to a light jog. "And that whiner says he's no good at sports... He's faster than Sunstreaker and I have ever been..."

**xxXxXxx**

Running with several pancakes in one's mouth was both the dumbest and hardest thing to do. Wheezing, feeling as if his vents were filling with syrup and dough, Inferno rounded the last of the field, barreling for the school doors immediately. The tardy bell rang, making the german shepherd cringe and almost choke as he went flying into the school, not slowing down for an astrosecond. "SWOZZE!," he bellowed, spraying pancake chunks everywhere, almost taking out a teacher.

"Inferno!," the mech yelled back. "You dough-helmed-"

Inferno didn't catch the rest of the insult, sliding to a stop and crashing into his homeroom class. Swallowing the half-soggy mass in his mouth, the youngling wheezed out a "sorry" before resuming to catch his intakes.

"Nice to see you too, Inferno," the teacher greeted flatly, a soft chorus of laughter behind her. "Now, if you'd be so kind and take a seat. I'd like to begin attendance."

Straightening up, smiling apologetically, the german shepherd scoped the classroom for an empty seat. Most were taken already, unfortunately... except for the one beside the new kid. Ears perking up in both surprise and excitement, Inferno quickly scrambled over, plopping down into the free chair with a thud. His unsuspecting table buddy gave a yip at the other's entrance.

"Inferno!"

"S-sorry ma'am!," he quickly apologized to the teacher. Shaking her helm, the femme returned to her roll call.

Tail wagging, the youngling turned his attention to the smaller autodog, who was determinedly trying to ignore him. "'Ey," the german shepherd grinned, "Sorry 'bout yesterday. 'Ow ya've been?"

The little doberman snapped his helm to Inferno in alarm, optics flared in disbelief. "A-are you talking to m-me...?," he squeaked softly.

Inferno canted his helm. "Well, yeah. Name's Inferno. What's yer's?"

"Y-you..." The smaller youngling was still gaping like a fish, looking both startled and unnerved. "Y-you... w-why are y-you talking t-to me? I-i've nothing i-important, I s-swear!"

The german shepherd shuttered his optics in surprise. "Aye don't need anythin' from ya, promise," he soothed. "Aye jus' wanna be yer friend."

"F...," the other autodog paused, sounding the word out slowly. "F-friend? You... you want t-to be my... friend?" Baby blue optics lit up brightly, fear being replaced with an expression Inferno could only think looked uncertainly hopeful. "R-really?"

"Really," the bigger mech smiled. He wasn't sure how to describe it himself, but he really, really did want to be this youngling's friend. Hopefully he wouldn't find him accident-prone and a bit of a blockhead like the others did. "So, name's Inferno. Glad t' meet ya...?"

"R-red... Red Alert," the other shyly supplied. "M-my name's Red Alert."

Inferno beamed. "Red Ale-" The german sheperd was cut off by a swat to the back of the helm.

"Inferno!," the teacher chastised loudly, holding her rolled up lecture book at the ready. "What have I told you, time and time again, about talking in my class?"

The youngling cupped the back of his helm where he'd been swatted, giving the femme the most simpering look he could give. "S-sorry, ma'am! Aye-"

"Detention for you and your new friend!," she yelled over the rising din.

"W-WHAT?!," Red Alert shrieked, horrified.

"And not another word out of you both while I'm teaching, or it'll be a week's worth!," she threatened the two, immediately, tight-lipped students. Eyeing them intensely, she turned away a moment later, returning to the front of the class, unrolling her book.

Feeling really guilty now, Inferno turned to the new student, surprised to see that Red Alert was slumped over his desk; servos covering his face in dramatic misery. "Um...," the german shepherd whispered uncertainly. He gently poked a flattened, quivering ear.

Nope. No response.

"Oops."

**xxXxXxx**

Sideswipe stood under the flagpole as other students walked by, heading off to home or whatever constituted as fun in this back-water country town, looking mighty stupid if you asked him. And why was he even here to begin with? Because Red Alert had a routine. That routine meant meeting up at the flagpole five kliks exactly after the bell rang. Routines were necessary; routines made Red Alert calm.

A calm Red Alert meant no meltdowns, freak outs or trips to the hospital.

So where was his brother? Sideswipe checked his watch again -it had been ten kliks now. Red Alert was officially late. Huffing, the black mech slung his backpack over his shoulder; marching back into the school, hoping against hope that he wouldn't have to crack some skulls. "Red? Yo, Red!"

The smaller autodog's ears perked as his triplet jogged towards him, trying to erase the miserable look off his face and failing even more. "Red...," Sideswipe slowly said, "Red, what's wrong? Whose aft do I need to kick now?"

"N-no! Oh, no, I-i'm not in t-trouble...!," Red Alert quickly replied. "W-well... At least n-not that way..." The white doberman's shoulders drooped alongside his ears and tail. "M-mom's go-gonna be so m-mad... b-but, but I've g-got detention."

"De-" The taller mech reeled. "Detention? How the frag did you-"

"T-talking. In class." Blue optics shuttered meekly up at his brother. "D-don't tell mom?"

"Don't-" Sideswipe groaned. "How do you expect me to not tell mom, huh? Listen, if you don't tell her then I will have to, otherwise she'll spazz out when I come home alone and probably call every emergency department available in this lil' hick town."

Of course, Red Alert was silent. "...I guess I'm sticking around then," the black mech grumbled to himself.

"N-no! No, d-don't... you don't ha-have to do that...," the other interjected. He picked at his fingers for a moment, debating. "I-i'll... I'll call mom and tell her about m-my detention. A-and I'll call her again o-once it's over. S-she can come g-get me o-or you can, t-then. P-please don't w-wait around on m-my account."

Sideswipe stared his younger brother down, wanting to find something to say in counter. But honestly? He didn't want to sit around, doing nothing, when there were things he had to do and how much trouble could Red Alert get anyhow? They were in the middle of nowhere after all... Pushing aside a few worries, the black doberman shouldered his bag again, staring the smaller autodog down.

"...okay. If that's what you want," Sideswipe said, "I'll be back in an hour's time, anyway. They can't hold you longer than that or I'll knock some helms together."

Red Alert squeaked at that statement, trying to convince his older brother not to do that but his triplet was already walking away; servos clapped to his ears. "La-la-la- I can't hear you! By the way, you're gonna be late for detention, 'Red."

There was another squeak and the whistling of wind as the lil' runt autodog hurried in the other direction.

**xxXxXxx**

Detention was dull. Dull and boring. Which, you know, it should be but considering he had a new buddy with him in detention today, Inferno couldn't help but to squirm in torment. Red Alert was sitting only five feet away from him; he was still close enough that the german shepherd could see the fang marks that the smaller autodog was leaving on his pencil as he chewed on it anxiously. Glancing back at the clock again, Inferno wished the little hands would wind around faster -he just wanted to be free to talk to his new friend!

"Inferno!," the detention teacher called snippily. The youngling straightened up in flash. "Quit eyeing the clock. This is detention -not class. ...Might I suggest getting a start on your homework like your friend here."

"Um..." The red mech glanced at the other autodog, and sure enough, Red Alert was closing his science book, having already finished the homework assigned for that class. Surprised, Inferno leaned forward a tad. Not many people usually did homework while in detention; certainly, none finished the whole chapter of work given to them like the doberman had managed to do. And he hadn't even broken into a sweat!

"Inferno!" This time a chalkboard eraser bounced off the german shepherd's helm. Wincing in slight pain, Inferno slouched back in his seat, looking up at the teacher. The mech gave the youngling a scowl and a point of his finger, warning him to stay in his seat.

Under his intakes, Inferno sighed. Detention was going to be a looooong one.

He didn't like just waiting. Waiting was horrible, like an itch that you couldn't scratch and it kept spreading and spreading, until your entire insides were crawling and it turned out there were insecticons on the inside starting to chew their way ou-

Red Alert quickly clenched the desk top, forcing himself to breathe in even, counted cycles through his vents until the itch crawling up his spinal struts finally began to reside and he wasn't plagued by continuous nightmare of insecticons devouring him from within. Curse this prison called Detention! He wanted out- he wanted to go home. If he didn't have his medication soon, the doberman knew the orn terrors would return, worse than before and not easily quelled with some breathing techniques. He really didn't want that to happen.

Shuffling up front caught the youngling off-guard; swallowing the shriek that nearly escaped, Red Alert snapped his helm up, watching in uncertainty as the teacher on duty rose from his seat. "Alright boys," he announced, "Detention's over. You're free to go."

"Woo hoo!," Inferno shouted, jumping from his chair immediately. Red Alert jolted, but didn't move, honestly still surprised that his short-term jailing was complete.

"U-um..." Coming to, the white mech slowly stood up as well, one servo blindly reaching for his bag. He gave a little yelp when he grabbed warm plating instead of his expected knapsack. "S-sorry!," he squeaked, releasing Inferno and shaking his servo as if he had just touched something toxic.

"'Ey, no, it's cool," the german shepherd smiled back, his deep blue optics crinkling with his grin. "Listen, Aye'm a really sorry 'bout earlier an' all. Will ya let me walk ya back home?"

"A-aye mean- Aye just really want to know ya better an' since, ya know, don't wanna get ya in trouble during class an' all an' Ay thought-" Inferno quickly added, rambling on at the other's wide-opticed stare. "An', like, u-uh, Aye'm j-just sayin', that y-yer, y-ya seem r-really neat a-an'-"

"...o...o-ok..."

The larger youngling stopped altogether, looking down the doberman. Red Alert glanced up at him for a moment, but was quick to look away again; optics dancing around the room nervously. "Really?," Inferno mumbled. His optics lit up and his tail began beating desks. "Really?!"

The white autodog flinched at his enthusiasm, taking a timid step back before the german shepherd had managed to reign most of it in. "S-sorry," he apologized, scratching the back of his ear. "U-um, yeah, so... home?"

Red Alert looked doubtful, but Inferno quickly bounded for the door; waiting like an impatient lil' turbofox.

Immediately, ice started filling the doberman's energon lines. It was silly, he knew, silly... just like Sideswipe always said, but... But he couldn't be the last one in the room. Red Alert hurried over to the doorway, getting one pede step in front of the other youngling. That unfortunately left him standing right in the doorway of the classroom and again, anxiety was jumping right up behind him, wrapping large claws around his throat. He couldn't be the last to leave a room, and he couldn't be the first. There were too many dangers, unknown variables and other horrible things lurking if he stayed behind or if he went first. What was he going to do?! He had to get home, he couldn't stay, but-but-

Before his intakes could break into a harmful, vigorous cycling, a heavy weight across his shoulders jolted him out of his panic. Whipping his helm around, Red Alert was alarmed to see Inferno smiling back at him easily, large arm laid out across his shoulders. Without even realizing it, they were leaving the room together; stride in stride.

What? How...? Nothing like this had ever occurred to the smaller mech before.

"So, 'ow ya likin' the neighb'rhood?," Inferno asked.

Slowly, Red Alert was even forgetting the wonder that was happening, falling into casual pace with the strange youngling. Pausing for a moment, the doberman mulled over what he wanted to say, clenching his binders close as he finally opened his mouth to speak.

**xxXxXxx**

His denta had been brushed, flossed and brushed again before ending with the routinely mouthwash swig. He'd showered, cleaned his ears out, and a fresh pair of pajamas were put on. Then he'd made sure his nails were cut and filed, waxed his pedes and fingers and slipped on his slippers. Triple-checked that his bag was packed, pencils arranged by colour, type and length in the outer pocket; lunch made for the next orn and all the contents divided appropriately- no intermingling! He'd checked under the berth, the closet, and in all the other nooks and crannies; then his sire, creator and even Sideswipe double-checked for him, before he went over and re-checked to make sure they hadn't missed something.

With all that done and taken care of for the night, Red Alert finally tucked himself in, staring up at the ceiling while his anxious mind finally began to wind down. He'd made a friend this orn.

It still was so surreal but it had happened. A friend. How long had it been sine he'd last had one of those? Forever?

The doberman blinked and he could see Inferno smiling down on him. The other youngling was big but... he didn't seem all that dangerous. And if he thought that Red Alert was pretty nice himself, how bad could the german shepherd be really?

Fears absent for once, the white mech rolled over onto his side, venting happily. He looked forward to school tomorrow and what new, fun things a friend could bring.


	19. Blades and First Aid IX

**Title: Blades and First Aid IX**   
**Rating: M**

There was a strange ringing in his audios that took him kliks to realize was sirens. Ambulance sirens. The same kind that he worked with because he was a nurse and nurses worked at hospitals, where ambulances took injured people to get healed.

Except that person was named First Aid and he wasn't that person.

First Aid was kind, helpful, gracious, selfless. He smiled and laughed, and had a wonderful family that loved him so much. He was care-free, one would say, with hardly a trouble in the whole universe.

In comparison, he was sick, broken; he had no friends, no family, and certainly no lover. He'd been used, abused, humiliated and degraded, meant for death but somehow pardoned his gruesome, befitting end.

The fact that he even knew what the noise was ringing shrilly in his ears was wrong. He had no right knowing that. For he was not First Aid and so he could not pretend that he was privileged to that life that was so much better than his existence right then and there.

**xxXxXxx**

"Oh, is this where you work?," a tender vocalizer spoke, looking around the meeting room. "Wow! It's so big Vortex! A perfect place for you to help people from!"

Mechs watched as the youngling pranced around the room, stalked by a persistent shadow. Fireflight, as he had introduced himself to everyone eagerly, was a surprisingly joyful bundle of sunshine considering he had been one of their abducted, but stranger still was how familiar he was of Vortex.

"V-vortex!," he gasped as he was snatched up and restrained in the purring lynx's lap. The shih tzu blushed prettily, yet surprisingly did not resist, leaning back into Vortex's hold willingly; smiling up at the psychopath. "I knew you were going to find me," he beamed, giggling as the kittycon leaned down to nibble at his neck cables. A precise bite turned a giggle into a breathless, little moan.

"Okay, yeah, no," Onslaught huffed, pushing past the gawkers and pulling Fireflight straight from his son's grasp. The youngling seemed utterly perplexed at the change of altitude and even Vortex started to growl, before the serval shoved his helm down between his knees.

"Onslaught!," Fireflight exclaimed as he was adjusted to sit comfortably in the veteran's arm. "How are my brothers? How are Dragstrip and Motormaster? Oh!" The shih tzu shuttered his optics in horrified realization. "B-bedo?! O-oh no, B-bedo he... m-my little..."

"Breakdown is fine," the green mech said, setting the youngling down onto the conference table. "Silverbolt has been taking care of him during your absence. Everyone's been very worried about you," Onslaught added, taking a seat next to Fireflight.

"Yes," spoke a second vocalizer. The crowd parted to let Yoketron walk through, taking his place at the front of the table. Quietly, he gestured for everyone else to take a seat, before turning his attention back to the shih tzu. "Your abduction was much unfortunate but it allowed us to find a group of evil mechs doing bad things to poor 'bots like yourself. Sadly, we do not understand why they kidnapped people such as yourself and for what purpose. Would you be able to help us find out, Fireflight?"

"'Bedo'?," Bombshell whispered curiously at Onslaught.

"...yes," the serval huffed under his intakes. "Bedo. Breakdown. His son... and my grandson..."

"Wait- WHAT?!"

Fireflight looked at the kai ken uncertainly, picking at the dress he'd been given after his rescue. "Well, I...," the young mechling began softly. "I... I-i don't really know w-why. They took our clothes and our things, they left us locked up in a dark room. We got a bowl of s-soggy oatmeal to eat... sometimes water too... Then they took some of the others out of the room every once in a while." All ears listened with rapt attention as the shih tzu spoke, sympathetic optics fixed on his timid form. "Th-the... the ones they took... th-they never came back. O-only, only First Aid did. H-he stopped one of the mechs from taking me, a-and they took him instead. W-when he came back... when he c-came back he wasn't t-the same anymore... He wouldn't t-tell me why."

"He...," Fireflight looked down at the table top, optics filled with unshed tears, "He protected me, j-just like he tried to do when those bad mechs c-captured us. A-and he was hurt b-because of me..."

Onslaught did not bother to try and stop Vortex from skulking over to his left, and slipping the hiccuping shih tzu off the table, as he'd been growling under his intakes as Fireflight had shared his experience with the Wreckers. The youngling obviously needed the other's attention anyhow, as shown by how quickly he wrapped his little arms around the kittycon's thick neck; tiny frame curling up into his chestplates.

"No, Fireflight," Yoketron soothed softly from his spot, his optics dimmed in regret. "No, you are not to blame for First Aid being hurt. He was valiant in protecting you, just as you are valiant for remaining so strong until we could come and rescue you. Don't ever blame yourself. Now, Vortex..."

But the kai ken didn't even have to speak. Vortex was already getting to his pedes, cupping the autodog closer as he headed for the door; one servo playing with the tiny shih tzu tail while a curled mouth whispered actively into a flattened ear. Blast Off and Brawl rose to follow them.

"...I will keep an eye on all three," the siamese informed his ex-associates, just before he left as well.

Silence followed for a klik while Yoketron turned to speak privately to Soundblaster.

"...soooooo," Bombshell drawled, appearing vaguely disinterested, "Breakdown is apparently that pup's son, and also your grandson. How old is that shih tzu again?"

Onslaught covered his face with a servo. Primus, just let the slagging insectipuma drop the subject.

"Well," Brainstorm interjected, "The file says he's fourteen and that he has a two year old son."

"S-so young?!," Ironfist gasped. "B-but he's not e-even a mech! H-how would he h-have a sparkling so y-young?"

Razorclaw sat quietly in his seat, arms crossed over his chestplates as he looked at nothing in particular. "...Let me guess," he spoke up, "He's Vortex's favourite." Onslaught's groan only confirmed what he said. "I'm surprised he can even have favourites."

"I'm surprised an evil cult terrifies Fireflight but Vortex doesn't!"

"...honestly, I'm more surprised Vortex has even stuck around considering he made a kid. Actually, scratch that. That Vortex has a _kid_ and it _lives_ is more shocking."

"Primus, wwwhhhyy...," the serval groaned again, sliding lower in his seat.

**xxXxXxx**

Cycles later, when the rest of the Wreckers had retired for the night, returning to their homes after a long and successful orn; only Yoketron and Soundblaster remained, tidying up the last bits of their long debriefing in the meeting room.

"Should we question First Aid for his side of the story?," the persian asked, filing away everyone's individual reports into a folder. "I mean, if he can give us any insight into the reasoning behind this madness maybe-?"

"No," the kai ken replied with a hint of weariness in his tone. He gently sat himself into his designated chair, cane rested neatly across his knees as he stared at the frozen image of several remains on the projector screen. "What that younger pup has suffered is far beyond anything we can truly grasp beyond theory. His identity of self is suffering great question and I believe even his trust may be shattered after what happened today with his brother Blades."

"...How does Blades fare, Soundblaster?," Yoketron asked, turning his helm to the kittycon.

Soundblaster vented slowly, stowing the fat file folder under one arm. "Not so well, I'm afraid. I tracked him down to the individual training rooms before the meeting, just sitting in one of the corners, not looking at anything in particular," he informed. "I tried to get him to come, but he wouldn't budge. I checked up on him just before he wrapped things up -he still hasn't moved or said a word, Master Yoketron. I'm actually concerned."

The Special Ops officer nodded sadly. "As am I. His brother First Aid meant a lot to him, Soundblaster, and he was lucky that the young autodog was much untainted by the events that befell their family during the war. But after today..." The kai ken looked down again, servo gripping the head of his cane tight. "In many ways, today is very much like all those years ago, Soundblaster, when Blades lost his eldest brother, Streetwise. Even for someone of his temperament, I do not think our dear friend Blades can recover from such a devastation twice."

The larger mech was silent at that, ears low on his helm. "...Shall I schedule an appointment with our best psychiatrists?," Soundblaster asked.

Yoketron shook his helm. "No... No," he replied, rising to his pedes finally, "Put him on medical leave; send him back to his family. He will heal better and quicker with them than anyone else."

"But what about First Aid?," the persian gaped incredulously. "Will he not want to go to his family as well? Won't the two of them together be catastrophic at this point and time?"

"Yes, but First Aid is unlikely to return home any time soon," the autodog said cryptically. Soundblaster followed on Yoketron's heels as he headed for the door, the lights flickering off as they left.

"And why is that Master Yoketron?"

"Because, Soundblaster, First Aid could never accept his family when he can not even accept who he is this very moment. He is traumatized and troubled and under the strong belief that he was never, and will never be deserving to be, 'First Aid'. Until we can convince him otherwise, he must remain here with us and be treated by the best counsellors we have on staff. I'm afraid that any contact with his family right now might further push him into this twisted perception and he will never truly recover."

Such heavy words weighed more than a decades-worth of haunted memories and spilled energon on seasoned servos. So much that Soundblaster didn't have an appropriate response beyond the empty "Oh..." that escaped his vents with the cycling of air. Silence hung between them after that, as neither said anything; Yoketron walking forward with a well-practiced stride and Soundblaster on his right, shooting worried glances to his superior.

As they neared the door to Yoketron's office, the Special Ops officer slowed to a stop, giving a soft sigh. "...It has been a long day, Soundblaster. Though we were successful, there is still many more questions to ponder and answers greatly absent. In this regard I would say that you are relieved of your duties for the night and I will see you in the morning..."

Soundblaster patiently waited as the kai ken cycled another slow, thoughtful intake.

"But, I am weary as well and the idea of processing the rest of this paperwork this evening annoys me. I'd gladly appreciate some company and perhaps some distracting conversation over, say, a cup of tea?" Soft blue optics didn't even need to look up at him in hopeful curiosity, for the kittycon would have jumped on any chance to spend quietly with Yoketron, outside of a professional manner.

"Yes sir!," he replied quickly, but, hopefully, not too quickly to seem eager and henceforth inconsiderate to what burden the kai ken himself might be carrying. It didn't seem to matter though, for Yoketron smiled (small, for sure, but a smile all the same) and unlocked his office door; gesturing for his companion to enter first.

**xxXxXxx**

Ratchet stood waiting alongside several other vets as the large ambulance drew closer to the hospital's back entrance. It was a dark orn indeed, with heavy clouds hanging low in the sky, despite the report they had received from local Enforcement that some of the suspected kidnapees were being transported home and into their medical care. Would First Aid be among them? And if so, what state would he be in?

The labrador knew these types of cases like the back of his servo and they never were any good- especially in the aftermath. Only the strong ones ever fully recovered, and informing the families of even a fraction of what had transpired to their loved ones did not always lead to a decent understanding and support while they struggled through their own demons. Then again, Hotspot and Groove had survived a war that had not only split their family into segments but had almost destroyed it entirely with its own variety of horrors. If anyone was to be empathetic to First Aid's ordeal, it would be the very family of his that sat upstairs in Ratchet's office; waiting for any real indication that their beloved australian shepherd was coming home.

The vet severely hoped that all their prayers had not been in vain.

Ratchet had no time to ponder on his own worries any further as the ambulance drew to a stop at the hospital's platform, one of the EMTs climbing out of the passenger side and heading around back of the vehicle. "...What are we looking at?," one of the nurses on standby asked of the mech.

The EMT vented, slowly undoing the lock at the back of van. "Not good," he replied, glancing quickly at the crowd gathered, "You've got your servos full. Excuse me when I say I don't envy you." With that, the mech opened the door, revealing a small gathering of femmes and mechs that jumped and shuffled away from the entrance like frightened petro-rabbits.

The sight disturbed all medical staff, especially for those with sharper optics who could pinpoint very obvious and chilling signs of abuse over the victims' frames. "Alright, people," Ratchet started firmly, "We need to get these poor 'bots out and into the psychiatric ward. Once inside, we give the patients a full look-over, prepare for sedatives and put them to bed rest. We can move forward with psychological assessments and contacting family afterwards. Remember: tread carefully and with utmost patience."

The other vets and nurses nodded, one by one, stepping forward and taking one victim at a time from the ambulance's hold. It was slow; each needed subtle cajoling and soothing encouragement as they were lead fearfully from the vehicle, but none so far had tried to make a break for it and that was both uplifting and a good start to a long road of progress. Ratchet stood by and watched as patients were dispersed among the other vets, feeling his tanks churn harder and harder as he still could not see a familiar helm among the sea of frightened faces. The ambulance was almost completely cleared out when one final 'bot climbed down... shocking Ratchet with his mere presence.

"How...," the old mech stuttered, "How... How come you are here and not First Aid?!"

Blades flinched at the subtle accusation, turning dim blue optics to the labrador and looking away again. Ratchet wasn't entirely sure if the mech knew who he was, but the vet himself had spent enough time thoroughly researching all of First Aid's family in light of this tragedy. If what that strange kai ken had said was true as well, Blades should have been on the rescue team sent out to save First Aid and the other victims. So why was he here and his younger brother not?

Ratchet paused as a thought slowly occurred to him. "...he... he's not dea-"

A short, quick shake of the mercenary's helm confirmed that the labrador was wrong in his assumption. The relief that the vet felt following this clarification left him weak in the knees- he had not known how such a dreadful thought had almost crushed him. Walking quickly after the red mech's more weary pedes, he was stunned when the strangely somber autodog paused suddenly and turned, handing a datapad to Ratchet.

"What is this?," Ratchet asked, switching the device on and quickly scanning its contents.

"...report," Blades answered with a deadened vocalizer. "He won't come home..."

And with that, the mercenary continued forward, heading directly for the hospital's nearest exit and to whatever refuge he sought. Glancing at Blades' backstruts momentarily, the old mech returned to the mission report he had been handed, torn. On the one hand, this was government-filed proof that First Aid had survived the ordeal numerous victims before him had not... on the other, this offered little condolences to the family who waited painstakingly to reclaim their lost member, or for the superior who wondered what horrific state his protege was in to not return home.

Ratchet would have no choice but to share this with Hotspot and Groove and hope more answers would be forthcoming soon.

"...First Aid...," he mumbled worriedly under his intakes, "...What happened to you?"

**xxXxXxx**

Week One

**xxXxXxx**

Week Two

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle One

_They say I should keep a journal. Apparently, I don't talk enough. Supposedly, talking will make things all better. I don't see the point._

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle One and two weeks

_The mech with glasses keeps calling me First Aid. I don't know why. That's not my name; that's not who I am._

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle Two

_Today they brought in this new mech. He was tall and old and he walked with a slight limp. He calls me First Aid and says things like everybody misses me, and they're really worried about me, and when am I coming home again. I don't like listening to him; he didn't go away for a long time though._

_He fought when they tried to escort him out._

_They say that he was my sire. That's wrong. They're all wrong._

_He's First Aid's sire and I am not First Aid._

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle Three

_They're all insisting that I need to remember. That I must accept that I am First Aid. That's a lie! I hate it! I hate them, I hate it here, I hate everything!_

_If you're reading this, just leave me alone! Stop forcing me to be him!_

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle Five

_I want them to shut up. Need them to._

_Please..._

_I can't- I just..._

_Why should I remember? How will that help? I'll... I'll only be worse than I am now. I..._

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle Five and one week

_I am..._

_I want to go home._

_Where... where is it?_

**xxXxXxx**

Decacycle Seven

_...b...b-brother Bla-blades..._


	20. Mainframe

**Title: Mainframe**   
**Rating: T**

It was just another one of those orns at Iacon's Science Department. "Can we get security to level three, please," Mainframe sighed, leaning forward in his seat, finger on the intercom button. His optics shuttered slowly at the monitors lining the wall in front of him, "We're going to need a personnel check and probably a fire-extinguisher as well. Wheeljack seems to have blown something up in his labs again."

There came sort of garbled confirmation through the speaker on the phone, of which the cocker collie merely brushed aside; leaning back in his seat and continuing his complicated work on his handy, little tablet. Only occasionally did he look up from compiling together various binary coding and department data-sorting to check on the progress of Wheeljack's lab. He was marginally relieved to see that the engineer had not managed to blow himself up this time, and only bore one or two scratches from whatever disaster he had concocted in his workspace now.

The janitors would probably throw a fit again though...

Turning his optics away from the security feed being displayed on the small terminal to his left, Mainframe tried to return to his own tasks but found himself... bored, for lack of a better term. Venting softly, the autodog set down his tablet, resting his helm back on his chair. Dissatisfaction settled on Mainframe's shoulder plating, stronger than the previous times that it had come, and this time, he was not so sure it would leave quickly.

He didn't know why he felt this way...

So, he wasn't a brilliant scientist like Perceptor. Astronomy both bored him and seemed irrelevant. He never cared enough for transit to get himself into the space-bridge technology. Engineering felt too subservient and meant having to cater to the whims of mechs like Perceptor, who -if it wasn't already obvious- made him feel slightly inadequate when compared next to. All in all, Mainframe felt out of sorts among his fellow employees in the Science Department.

A strange thought he knew. He was practically the "Boss" here. He ran the archives, storing and handling all legal matters and written reports about the experiments and progression projects that took place on each level. He controlled the funds of all the members of the guild, and even cleared cheques to the janitorial staff and security that acted as secondary workers within the building. And when he wasn't busy negotiating all public and private relations, he could be found maintaining and upgrading the Department's entire network of computers.

His office was practically a whole level of integrated computers and servers: one plugged into the next, plugged into a security box, plugged into a platinum battery pack here and there, jacked into several large and humming cooling units secured to the walls of the room; all wired and compliant to the massive super-computer that essentially ran the entire building and their network mainframe. A computer and system that Mainframe had built with his very own two servos, earning him the very right to be here among all the other notable talents of the progressive technological age.

He should have been happy. Should have felt overjoyed to be doing the only thing that had ever held any meaning to his life, fostering billions of line of codes like other 'bots fostered sparklings; safe and well-justified to stay away from a world he only found chaotic to begin with, let alone relate to. And yet... He wasn't. Not any more.

These bouts of depression were becoming more frequent and, truthfully, annoying. The cocker collie was used to this sort of behaviour in Cosmos, but really, it neither suited his own persona nor was it logical. He had everything he had ever wanted in life and wasn't troubled by society's more trivial issues like socializing and lovers and people. Must have been all the changes happening with his co-workers that were making him feel a little too meta this past decacyle.

Frowning, Mainframe realized he had just spent ten kliks zoning out and pondering to himself all the inane questions of the universe (which he neither wanted nor cared for, since they weren't small, blue and white digits of 1's and 0's that he could then play with and manipulate into masteries of programming genius) and straightened up in his seat; once more gripping his tablet with a firm servo. He noticed, to his surprise, that an email alert was pinging silently at the bottom of the screen, demanding his attention.

The programmer mulled it over for a moment, but finally consented to the notification, opening the page with the thought in mind that it had to be of some actual importance. And it was... he believed.

Frowning a bit more, the autodog clicked on the sender, watching as a window popped up with its forwarded message. "...Brainstorm...?," he mused quietly to himself. The name sounded familiar... but honestly, he could not place it, and therefore couldn't confirm if this was a person of importance or just another spammer. If it was the latter, it would mean that he'd written up a poor filter and would have to unravel the coding and start again.

That idea appealed to him a little.

Shaking his helm a little, the cocker collie read through the short email; optics shuttering in shock slightly. A veteran... a veteran of the Great War was asking permission to use his facilities, seeing as they had the region's most accommodating equipment. Mainframe tilted his helm to the side slightly, uncertain how to take this request. Though he was aware that he perhaps should remain unbiased, the truth was that he detested soldiers. War was the most corrupt, inane course of action that the world was capable of concocting and did nothing but cripple resources and bots alike. There was nothing good to come out of fighting, and never did the end justify the means. Morality was a distinguishment that alluded war; good, bad, enemy, friend... none of that existed. There was no such thing as right or wrong.

The only truth that war surfaced was that suffering was real; agony, hand-made. The mountain of graves and the tears wept from the ones who were left behind, testaments to the grievance and hypocrisy that War embodied.

It should be no surprise that Mainframe detested War and hence-forth was not taking too kindly to an ex-soldier asking him to use their Department's most prestigious labs for whatever private matters he needed to attend to. He should refuse.

The cocker collie's servo slid over to the reply button, but paused when he received yet another notification. Mildly curious (even if he was still suspicious), he clicked on the new message, watching as the window popped up over the first one, displaying its contents for him to see. The same message... but from _Ratchet_ this time. Mainframe fixed his frames in disbelief, pulling the tablet closer, reading over the lines of text with scrutiny. Even if he wanted to believe otherwise, this message was clearly from the famous vet himself (his snark was _rife_ in the words) and requested as the previous message that he open his facilities for himself and a colleague.

_'I understand your stand-point, Mainframe,'_ the letter added, _'But you'll need to put your selfish vindications and your social anxieties behind you this time. The labs are essential to a medically-related project that both myself and the aforementioned Brainstorm are a part of. Denying us would not only be stupid and immature of you, but you would risk the life of the one we seek to help. Don't be a brat.'_

Grumbling in annoyance at the email, Mainframe clicked on reply, and stiffly wrote his response. It was, of course, a compliance to Ratchet's request. He had no problem denying this Brainstorm what he sought, but he was neither cruel nor daft enough to say no to a vet that could easily amputate his servos in under five kliks.

He only hoped that he wouldn't regret this later...

Or be forced to pay _extra_ maintenance bills.

**xxXxXxx**

Why was his life this never-ending cycle of idiots popping by and melodrama after melodrama? Huffing, Ratchet entered into the examination room, shutting the door quickly behind him. He didn't even bother to look up at the patient sitting on the medical berth, delving straight into the datapad he held. "...is this your first time in Iacon?"

"No, sir," a calm voice answered politely. "Iacon is quite familiar to me, even though I have not been a permanent resident."

At that, the vet glanced up, staring into pale blue optics. " …..You're-?"

The white helm nodded back at him. "Yes. They are my family and he is my brother. Or, perhaps... I should say was."

Ratchet vented heavily. "Hence the need for secrecy, I see." He tucked the datapad under his arm, crossing the room to the cupboards. "I was given a short report about your situation, but I confess I don't know much beyond what you are. Certainly, I wasn't informed of who you are... I usually try not to get myself involved in government affairs -secret services or not. Got one too many problems as is in my own life," the labrador gruffed, snapping on a pair of rubber gloves.

"I am sorry to be a burden," the younger mech apologized.

"Don't worry about it, pup," the vet shrugged, turning to the patient. "I never turn away a 'bot who needs the help."

"Which is why he's such an easy mech," a voice chirped obscenely, its owner slamming through the door. Ratchet turned around, glaring at Brainstorm as he skipped forward, looping an arm around his stiff shoulders.

"...I thought I locked that door..."

"Meh. You know how those silly things work," the tervuren replied, waving off the vet's glowering expression, "Old wood, rusted locks..."

"What did you-"

"I'm so glad you made it here, Streetwise!," Brainstorm interrupted, springing over to the seated autodog; grabbing his servo and giving it a firm shake. "You know, I would have picked you up, but you didn't return my calls and then Chromedome was trying to tell me something, maybe serious, but all I could think was how cute he was and I just had to-"

"Ah, ah, ah!," Ratchet snapped, clipping the wacky mech upside the helm, "Shut it! I don't want to hear anything about your freaky interfacing habits!"

"But-"

"No buts! You contacted me for help with a job- specifically helping your so-called friend, Streetwise here." The vet turned to his datapad, scrolling through it again. "And I plan on doing my part. I've already contacted Mainframe-"

"I did tha-"

" _And_ ," Ratchet continued, growling slightly at Brainstorm, "He's agreed to let us use some lab space at the Science Department. Though you may be renowned by government standards, the point is that no one really knows you outside of those who were in the war -and unfortunately, the one who manages these labs is an agoraphobic nerd with a distaste for soldiers." The labrador turned to the quiet autodog then, who sat, seemingly not there, listening in attentively.

"As for you Streetwise...," the old mech sighed, "Well, I promise we'll do our best. They say I'm the best in my field, and maybe they're right, but my experience only goes as far as the transbiological. Hopefully, with mine and your guardian Brainstorm's knowledge, we'll be able to help you before any more problems crop up. If... if not, at least we have Cybertron's finest also at hand."

"Why do you always put me down?," Brainstorm whined shortly, "I'm always great at what I do!"

Ratchet's frown, astoundingly, grew deeper on his face but he refrained from replying to that comment. Huffing to himself instead, he scrolled through his datapad one last time before flicking the tablet off. "We'll be heading for the lab tomorrow, where we can fully evaluate the growing issues," he continued to the patient mech watching them. "Are... are you sure you don't wish to inform your family about these procedures? At the very least, First Aid could accompany us."

The conservative akita merely looked at the vet; a polite smile coming to his lip components. "No. I rather not worry them about this," he replied. He didn't even waver under the older autodog's penetrating stare, keeping his modest expression. "I will be fine."

Still scowling, Ratchet decided to let it go for now, slapping the servos of the wandering tervuren. "Alright. I won't tell your family what's happening, and I shall see you tomorrow at noon. Now scat! I've got other patients to see- and you put those rubber gloves back, Brainstorm!"

"Awwww, but Chromedome loves a good 'medical examin-"

"Nah nah nah! I don't _want_ to hear it!," the labrador interrupted, tone raising and servos shaking in the air as he turned on his heel. "And don't you dare take a single item! I'll have the nurses double-check the inventory and Chromedome will be informed if anything is missing."

Brainstorm blew a raspberry at the vet's backstruts sourly, but once the door had closed, he turned to the white mech, rubbing his servos together excitedly. "Sooooo... ready to head back to the office?"

Pale blue optics rose towards him demurely, not a single reply coming from the other autodog. Optics shimmering brightly, Brainstorm giggled, grabbing Streetwise's servo and dragging him out of the room. "Another smoking headquarters it is!"

**xxXxXxx**

There was nothing unusual about his morning patrol that orn. Mainframe checked the security hub, checked the front desk, then each of the labs, level by level. There were no infrastructure worries to be had in the Space Bridge development lab and so far, Wheeljack's lab was void of any projects to go nuclear and him. The cocker collie took that as a good sign. Wrapping up the last of his patrol, the programmer headed upstairs to his own lab, eager to escape into the quiet, confined space.

"There he is..."

Imagine his surprise when he stepped out of the elevator and he saw not only Ratchet, but another stranger standing outside his lab door.

"Heesh," remarked the lanky, teal one, "Ever heard about a watch? You're late! You work here and you're late for meeting us at your own lab. Kinda inconsiderate if you ask me. I mean, we showed up on time for you because Ratchet said we had to but could you have the decency to be here when we arrived? Nooooo."

"Brainstorm," Ratchet warned lowly.

"Honestly, I never even wanted to get up early but Ratchet told Chromey and he made sure to set his alarm, just so he could wake me up. And then he actually took away my morning fuckles because I apparently had an appointment to keep."

"Brainstorm," Ratchet repeated, an optic beginning to twitch.

Brainstorm had not finished though. "My morning fuckles!," he shouted loudly, servos waving about like a mad man. "I love my morning boner, especially when it's warmed between two-"

"BRAINSTORM!," Ratchet bellowed, grabbing one of the tervuren's ears, yanking his helm down suddenly. "Keep that slag to yourself or you'll have many more mornings without sex from Chromedome truly!"

Mainframe took an uncertain step back, brow furrowed. These were shenanigans he wasn't accustomed to even among his own staff, and surely didn't approve of happening outside his lab. Brainstorm tugged himself free of the vet's hold, shaking his helm before glaring at the labrador.

"Well, I'll have you know-"

"Don't even give me that slag, you uncontrollable-"

This was rapidly deteriorating into a full on screaming match. Scowling further, Mainframe cleared his throat.

"Chomper's been looking for a new-"

"Try it, you deranged-"

"Ahem!" Mainframe cleared his throat loudly, pressing his tablet and blasting a single, loud note from his main computer within the lab. The sound was concussive enough even if halted by the thick iron doors. Straightening up onto their legs, the two older autodogs looked down on the programmer.

"I suppose we should actually get to work," Ratchet started first, glancing at the tervuren.

"Yeah. Suppose..." Brainstorm muttered, grumbling something else under his vents. "Let's get these doors open already!"

Mainframe walked up to the keypad, beginning to input his password. "...Ratchet," he started quietly.

Ratchet interrupted him before he could get too far along. "I am aware of your rules, Mainframe. We will keep to them, I assure you."

The cocker collie didn't look as if he believed the old mech, but he didn't have much of a choice at this moment, now did he? Especially not when the rude stranger went marching into his lab narily an astrosecond after the door slid open. Miffed, Mainframe made to follow, but a strong servo stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Sorry, kid," the vet said, pushing him back a couple pede steps, "But we need privacy from this point on. I'll send you a message the moment we're done for the orn."

What? No way, the programmer wanted to shout. This was his lab; his safe haven! Everything precious he owned and created was within this space! How dare they deny him entry?!

"Remember, you gave us permission and unfortunately, this is part of the package," Ratchet was adding, walking into the lab. "Go get some tea, Mainframe before you blow something."

And then the doors were shutting in his face; two complete strangers on the inside and him locked out. Mainframe grit his denta tight but only turned on his heel and marched stiffly back to the elevator. Next time, he swore, he'd get the fine print before agreeing to any more rental of his facilities.

**xxXxXxx**

This was embarrassing. All of his co-workers were giving him weird looks and a few were even making comments. It wasn't usual for the cocker collie to be outside his lab after his early morning patrol and Mainframe would have liked nothing better to escape to his computer just to get away from everyone's prying questions. Eventually, the programmer decided to slag with it- he was going out for some strong coffee and then he was hijacking the lobby security hub.

He paced in front of the doors before Mainframe finally walked outside, glad that the plaza was clear of too many 'bots. He didn't want to associate with more people than he needed to. Walking quickly across the street for the cafe, the cocker collie noticed a lone autodog circling around slowly. That unnerved him and he hastened his pace; he didn't want to be bothered by strangers and their hidden agendas.

He'd pray to Primus if that would give him the extra advantage...

"Excuse me?"

But obviously Primus was not looking down on him. Or, if he was, he certainly did not care.

"Excuse me?," the gentle voice called again, closer now. "Sir?"

Slowing down to a complete stop, Mainframe turned his helm to the other 'bot, a blank face his mask, hiding his irritation. He shuttered his optics though when he saw the other autodog. Tall, at least a few inches than him, the akita was slender, with white, lush fur and gentle, pale blue optics. He kept his gaze lowered half an inch from being equal and it made him seem defenseless in response. The programmer would dare say this... mech, he was sure the autodog was a mech... was gorgeous.

But that would be a senseless comment to speak, not to mention Mainframe didn't care about other kittycons and autodogs that way. There was nobody that could compare to his programs and codes; they were more beautiful than any flashy mech or femme.

"...I," the akita began, "I am sorry to bother you but I seem to have gotten turned around. Would you be so kind as to direct me the Science Department? I'm not sure which of these buildings it is."

Now that was curious. What did a mech that looked like a model have any need for the Science Department? Well, Mainframe thought, raising a servo, it wasn't for him to worry about until a commission was sent directly to his intake box digitally. And he only needed his tablet to access that, which he carried with him always. Quietly he pointed to the building he had just left kliks ago, to the stranger's smiling relief.

"Thank you for your assistance," he said, turning to the programmer once more. "Have a good day."

Then the akita was walking away quickly, tail flicking behind him in time with his graceful strides.

Again, Mainframe was curious as to why a mech like that would be looking for the Science Department, but he figured it was a problem he could ponder over after he had locked himself away in the security hub, away from the likelihood of any social interaction.


	21. Blades and First Aid X

**C.M.D: And this concludes the last of the Transformers works that need to be re-posted! From here on in, it'll be nothing but new updates starting next month! Hurray!**

**Title: Blades and First Aid X**   
**Rating: M**

Hospital staff didn't even bother to stop her as she walked around the halls, marching forward with desperate direction. Her target was an old mech talking to a circle of nurses; handing out datapads and weary instructions with a tired scowl. The crowd was just dispersing as she drew up to the vet, fists clenched at her sides.

"E-excuse me...? Ratchet?"

The labrador turned at the sound of his name, dim optics flaring in surprise. "Ignis?," he gaped. A pause, before a sigh followed. "Ignis...," he repeated, "Sweet pup, listen, I know... I mean... I get it, but... He's not here. I haven't heard anything since that orn either. You shouldn't keep coming by..."

The femme shook her helm, glancing to the side momentarily before she met with Ratchet's gaze again. "I... I know, but... but if I stop asking then, then maybe he really won't come home," she replied, "And we need him, Ratchet. A lot. Nobody will say it, but First Aid... First Aid was the glue that kept us altogether. Without him, we're falling apart..."

It was a well-known feeling. The decacycles that First Aid had been gone had changed everything -this hospital, the nurses' interactions, even Ratchet himself. Work wasn't the same, even the patients noticed, and it was a sludge that coated them from within and without; corroding their sparks and bringing motivation to an all-time low. The white mech never would have thought he'd have spent so long without his loyal assistant... and he certainly never would have wished it to be in this way.

"...come," Ratchet finally said, waving slightly with his datapad, "Let's go to my office. You drink oil?"

Ignis followed quickly, staying right on top of the vet's heels. "Yes. Three sugars, please," she answered. "Listen, Ratchet... I... I don't want you to tell anyone else, but I'm really worried about my... um, Blades. You... you know him...?"

The older autodog vented tiredly. "Yes, I am aware that he is your brother and sire... Believe me, that was shocking enough. Streetwises' file is still a mystery to me."

The youngling bunched her shoulders above her helm, staring at the floor self-consciously as Ratchet unlocked his office door. "I-i know most people would look down on me and my family because of my parentage, but not once has Blades been a horrible sire to me. I... Hotspot and Groove raised me in Blades' stead, and treated F-first Aid and I a-as siblings so... S-so, I k-know for a fact that Blades a-adored First Aid, t-the only brother he h-had left who didn't know of the mess are family still remained in and w-who didn't think of him differently."

Ratchet glanced at Ignis, ushering her into his office, but said nothing as he went to the counter to make two cups of hot oil.

The femme herself paced back and forth, fiddling with her servos in a weak attempt to reign in her wild emotions. "S-see, Blades needs that normalcy. I-i know he'd never tell me that, word for word, but he's my sire and I know these things. H-he loved coming home for family visits, w-when he could make them, a-and since he was u-unable to help First Aid a-after he went missing..." She paused, drawing in a shaky intake, before collapsing in one of the vet's free chairs. "H-he's... He can't l-last much longer like this, Ratchet. W-we're all suffering, b-but B-blades' s-state of mind is in d-danger. If... If we never get First Aid back, t-then I will lose both my brother and my sire... I-i... I don't w-want this fo-for my f-family..."

"Ssh," Ratchet soothed, approaching the crying femme. He put her cup of oil on the desk beside her, before gently petting the youngling as she turned into his waist; hiding her tear-streaked face. "Ssh... I... I can't offer you any real condolences," he murmured softly, "But know that you are not alone. I miss him terribly and every day he is not here, is a reminder that without First Aid, my life is not complete. If you ever need anyone to talk to, you're-"

The shrill ringing of his office phone interrupted anything else that the labrador might have said. Staring at it momentarily, Ratchet stroked Ignis' helm one last time, before carefully reaching forward and pulling the receiver out of its cradle. His 'hello' came out gruffer than he would have liked, but considering the subject of conversation he had currently been in, the old autodog thought he was justified in his impatience.

"What?," he said, straightening up in surprise. Ignis looked up, wiping her optics, one servo fisting the vet's lab coat. "You mean-" Ratchet paused, before looking down at the femme. "I understand," the labrador finished, before hanging up. He didn't need to look to know that Ignis was staring at him with silent demand.

"Grab your things. We've got something to tell your family."

The youngling was up on her pedes immediately, following Ratchet as he rushed out of the office.

**xxXxXxx**

The airport was one solid mass of 'bots, noise, smells and heat, combined with a severe lack of impatience, exhaustion and mild panic. Thankfully, they weren't part of the regular cue lines; hidden behind tinted glass, First Aid and his escorts were alone in a clean hallway, leading over the maze of airline customers and staff below, and down a door to a rear exit of the airport. Soundblaster, as he had politely introduced himself when they boarded the plane, walked next to him in silence; whispering orders to the other four in the vet's guard, occasionally glancing at his charge.

First Aid ignored him, as he did most else, optics focused only on the space between his pede and his front guard. Surrounded by his own personal wall of mechs, he was safe -as long as the noise and the other bodies stayed far away, he didn't have to think, or feel, or... anything. It had taken more than enough energy for the australian shepherd to return to Iacon, and that was after the gentle prodding of the old kai ken.

It was a decision that he was already beginning to regret.

"Not much further," the kittycon beside him said softly. "We just have to go through these doors up ahead, and then out another set across the hall. We have a sedan already outside, waiting for us, to take you where ever you wish."

The autodog didn't know if he even signalled his acknowledgement but he assumed Soundblaster took his silence for a confirmation, as he had done for much of everything else. The front guard opened the doors ahead of them; Soundblaster practically glued to First Aid's side, surveying the area as they stepped into the full sunlight of the orn. It was only several steps across the way to reach the next set of doors. A short distance by any means... and yet it was too long...

"What do you mean I can't see him?!," a voice shouted across the hall. Two more voices rose to counter the original shout, but already First Aid had frozen in place, frightened optics snapping to the side.

"He's my son!," Hotspot shouted. He wrestled with the security guarding a series of temporary blockades, trying to knock one mech out with his cane, while shoving past the other. Groove stood beside him, snapping just as loudly; one servo held up to his face, clenching a wet handkerchief. "You can't keep me from seeing him!"

They were putting up an amazing fight, but worse yet... they weren't alone...

Vivid blue optics stared out over the tousling helms, pinning the poor australian shepherd down. Spark started pulsing faster and faster, even after Soundblaster stepped in front of First Aid, until the vet could not feel anything but the frame-penetrating chill that stopped the very energon in his lines. "Get them back!," the persian ordered, sending two of their personal guards forward.

Blades' helm disappeared momentarily among the chaos, but when it reappeared, the white mech did not know -he'd already turned and ran off, vanishing from everyone's sight.

**xxXxXxx**

"I hope you're proud," the persian glared. "No thanks to you, First Aid has disappeared!"

Ratchet scowled back just as equally up at the black kittycon, fists clenched on his desktop. "Have you checked his apartment?," he grit out slowly.

"We informed you of his return, as you are the only closest confidante we know he had outside his family!," Soundblaster continued, fur bristling wildly upon his switching tail. "Yoketron said specifically that you would be able to guide First Aid through this tumultuous return, which is why we called you before our flight took off -and then you pulled this stunt?!"

"Are you going to answer the question or not?!"

The kittycon hissed lowly, straightening up when the labrador tensed in retaliation. "Yes, we did check. The place has been empty for orns- there was a layer of dust, still undisturbed!" Soundblaster crossed his arms over his chestplates, visor dimming as his glare increased. "Unfortunately, now we have nowhere to find First Aid and it's imperative we find him before things get out of hand again..."

"...now you're finally making sense," Ratchet grumbled, getting up. "I get that you bureaucrats have your way of doing things, but you've said nothing to me or the pup's family for the entire time you've had him. You're timing also sucks, because I had Ignis in my office when you called. What? Should I have just ditched that poor, upset youngling just for secrecy sake?"

The other mech said nothing. His tail still switched at the tip, ears perked tensely.

Coming out from behind his desk, the vet walked over to his filing cabinet; unlocking one of the shelves and pulling out a thin file. "This," he informed, handing the folder to the persian, "Is a compilation of all of First Aid's personal data. There sure as slag isn't much in way of clues but I'm sure you secret intelligence officers can piece together some sort of idea as to where to find First Aid. Whatever you do... treat him well."

Soundblaster was silent as he thumbed through the folder, before closing it up and nodding slowly. His tail had finished its twitchy motion and his ears had lowered to their usual position; his entire demeanour was finally relaxed. "Thank you...," the kittycon began slowly, "I... I know that this is a difficult time for you and I did not mean to come across as inconsiderate, but I am just as worried about your comrade as you are. My mission was to deliver him to you personally for the rest of his recovery, which I have already failed. I only hope that things won't deteriorate further."

There wasn't much to be said to that. Certainly, Ratchet wanted to shoot some slurs at the impudent persian who'd stormed into his office, hissing uncalled for accusations his way... but honestly, the vet was tired. It had been a long orn, and an even longer evening awaited him after First Aid had disappeared from his family. If Ignis and her family had been spark-broken before, this would have completely devastated them now. What had they thought? Seeing the back of their dearest son and brother fleeing from them, straight back into the unknown... Battling with his own slightly guilty feelings, it took the labrador kliks to realize that was alone once more in his office. Venting heavily, Ratchet tidied up what little mess remained, before leaving for the night.

**xxXxXxx**

He was a monster...

"Blades?"

A demon...

"Dad?"

He ruined everything he touched...

"Daddy?!"

The pounding on the door increased as the bull terrier buried his helm deeper between his knees, wincing at the buzzing in his ears. He sounded like he held a whole wasp nest in his helm; their snipping, angry, incessant noise drilling holes in and out of his processor. It left everything aching behind his optics -long since dried of any tears. The buzzing increased to a ear-piercing screeching, like claws on metal, making him flinch.

It was better than Blades' deserved and so he did not comment on it.

The pounding continued on the other side of the door for a few more kliks before it quieted entirely, leaving the autodog to wallow further in his self-made torment. He was a monster, he repeated silently, a demon. He ruined all he touched; corrupted everything good.

_I just wanted to help..._

… _.I loved him..._

Pitiful excuses. Self-serving reasons. Monsters did not have sparks; demons did not love. They were hollow and full of rage, they fed off of despair and stripped the good out of everything. He'd hurt him... Broke him down further...

No wonder he hates you Blades, voices whispered. The first of many words to break through the buzzing.

_No wonder..._

He hurt him... Broke him further... Turned First Aid away from him, scarred him enough into fleeing at the mere sight of the bull terrier. He deserved this then -this pain, this title, this emptiness. He did not have the right to feel sorry, or guilty, or anything that might make him a victim in this scenario.

_I'm a monster..._

_I just wanted to save him..._

Cold tile touched his cheek, stinging in its frigidness. No one would leave him alone; they all grieved, and tried to include him in their grief. Yet they didn't know what he had done to their most precious First Aid. They were unaware of his part in the australian shepherd's fleeing. He had no control over his anger, no way to cap his never-ending rage... He really was just a monster.

And he'd finally lost what he'd already destroyed.

**xxXxXxx**

He didn't know what he was doing. The frightened dash he'd made was understandable, the dive into the parked sedan calculable but the drive around Iacon that followed made little sense. "Where you heading?," the chauffeur had asked. He had no answer and could barely say that to the mech driving. The driver seemed to have understood though; he started up the car and began rolling, going around in circles and about corners in a never-ending loop. Morning turned to afternoon, and eventually the sky turned dusky red with the approaching evening. Knowing he needed to come to a stop some time, the australian shepherd gestured to a familiar street corner, to which the chauffeur politely pulled over and let him out.

Arms crossed over his chest, the white mech walked down the worn pavement, optics fixed on his elongating shadow. Up ahead, in a little cul de sac, he saw a green door among the various reds and blues. His pace picked up. It felt like kliks later, but in actuality was only a few astroseconds, he stood in front of the unique door; staring blankly up at the silver knocker, uncertainties squirming wildly within the autodog.

With more courage than he felt he truly owned, the mech raised a trembling servo and gave the knocker one, gentle swing. The thud it made was dull and easily forgettable- yet the door opened shortly after, Ratchet standing in the doorway with a stunned expression. "F... First Aid?"

He hadn't meant to flinch at the stutter of his name, but it was already done, so all the australian shepherd could do now was straighten to his full height; servos held limply at his sides. "...may I come in?," he asked softly.

"Wh- Oh! Yes, yes, Primus, come in!" Ratchet hurriedly stepped out of the way, flustering as he gently pulled the assistant in. The older mech closed the door and rushed them to the living room, offering his good armchair to the silent australian shepherd. First Aid didn't sit and seeing this, Ratchet slowed down in his blustering, sitting awkwardly on the edge of the raggedy couch he owned.

"...Did you want some oil or-?"

The assistant shook his helm.

Venting heavily, the labrador ran his servos over his face before folding them between his legs, staring at the floor. "Um... t-today at the airport, I...," the vet started slowly, "I informed your family about your return. I didn't mean for them to swarm you, I just- They hadn't seen or heard from you in a long time and Ignis was with me when-"

A small servo lifting silence the rest of Ratchet's words, as he turned guilt-ridden optics up to the australian shepherd, wary of any signs. "Ratchet...," First Aid began. His vocalizer was weak, rough; not at all like it once was. "It doesn't matter," he continued, dismissing his superior's crime, "I just... I want to know my schedule. I want to be back at the hospital. Please... I need some normalcy..."

A knot was growing in the other mech's vocalizer, which he tried to clear quickly, but it still did not fade as he opened his mouth; indeed, it became worse. "Listen, pup, I..." The assistant tensed. "I r-really want you to come back to work, but... but you can't."

The light was dimming rapidly from First Aid's optics. Leaning forward, servos held out desperately, Ratchet tried to correct his earlier statement. "I-i mean, it's not like I don't want you to! But, given what b-became of you, and how long you were gone... The medical directors' board would not allow it! Not right now..."

The smaller mech was already turning away, shoulders shaking minutely. "I-i... I see... I, I..." His words were few, broken, mumbled until First Aid gave up entirely. He turned abruptly on his heel, heading for the door. "Sorry. I will go."

"No," the labrador protested, jumping to his pedes. "First Aid, wait!" He cut off his assistant's retreat, uncertainly resting his servos on the other autodog's shoulders. "First Aid, wait, let's... let's figure something out, okay?," he suggested, bending a little to meet the australian shepherd's gaze. "I can't let you come back to work as a nurse, b-but... but maybe I can hire you on like... like... like an office temp! You could catalogue files for me, tidy the office, um, answer phone calls! Does... does that work...?"

Finally, bright optics were looking up at him -swollen with tears, but glimmering with a forbidden spark of hope... and home. Ratchet practically grinned as he sighed with relief, straightening up and yanking the younger mech in for a hug. "I missed you, pup," he groaned, overwhelmed with joy and exhaustion, "We all did. Primus, how strong you are to have survived the nightmare you came from..."

Trembling, the assistant buried himself deeper into the labrador's embrace, quietly weeping with so many conflicting emotions. Hugging First Aid tighter, the vet planted a kiss on the bowed helm, rocking the australian shepherd when his intakes turned ragged from his crying. "Whatever you need... whatever you want," Ratchet said, "Just ask, First Aid, and I will help you through the rest of this. I promise you."


	22. Insectipuma V

**C.M.D: I bet a number of my readers were expecting a new First Aid chapter for my new update of the year, but sadly that muse is still away on holiday. For now, enjoy some more Bombshell and Shrapnel goodness!**

**Title: Insectipuma V**   
**Rating: T  
**

"Well, here we are, your highness."

Shrapnel ignored the purr, strutting past the larger kittycon, stopping just inside the doorway of the condo before continuing forward. His helm twisted side to side, studying everything intently; lip components pursed in a disapproving scowl.

Bombshell dropped the bags by the door as he finally got his key free, letting the door swing shut behind him. "So what do you thi...," he started as the youngling turned and disappeared into the berthroom. "...Okay."

Shrugging, the Insectipuma headed for the kitchen, yanking open the fridge and grabbing himself a beer. He didn't bother giving chase, knowing that Shrapnel would make his way back out to find the mech shortly. And he wasn't disappointed.

"Distasteful; ful!," the smaller puma hissed, servo cutting through the air. He turned into the kitchen, arms crossed over his chestplates. "These quarters will not do; do! The décor is base and trivial; your choice of colours blasphemous; mous! I will need new furniture, sheets, drapery, pillows, scents; scents..."

Shrapnel trailed off in his list, taking a scandalous look at the rest of the apartment. "Not to mention the amount of useless possessions you have; have. They will have to go; go! They do not have a place here and I must; must-"

"Now," Bombshell grunted, swallowing his mouthful quickly, "You remember here now, that I never wanted you to come back with me in the first place. This is my place- you ain't throwing out slag. Glare at me all you want; ain't happening."

Violet optics narrowed further, the youngling calming his stance; servos clasped innocently before him and ears perked amiably... almost deterring one from the leisurely curled tail, tip flicking in hostility. "Very well; well," Shrapnel replied, tone smooth, "Keep your trinkets and your gluttonous toys; toys... but seeing as I am to occupy this space with you, as your selected mate, the berthroom is now  _mine_  to do with as I wish; wish. Which means, those hideous slabs of cardboard you deem furniture are gone and my ancestral throne is taking its place; place!"

"What, how is that-"

"It  _is_  fair; fair," the heir hissed, "If you ever wish to get under my plating again; again. Mate or not, I know your 'modern' laws well, and if I refuse to interface with you and you still persist, I can have you marked up with charges; charges! I'm sure that would interfere with whatever lucrative business you truly run; run."

Bombshell scowled, optics half-shuttered in annoyance. "...you're a brat, you know that?," he hissed back, displeased with how smart the Insectipuma really was. Not even a cycle back and his new "wife" was causing him trouble. Heesh.

Shrapnel sniffed, turning on a heel, heading back for the berthroom. "That is merely your opinion; opinion," the youngling quipped. "Call forth some servants while you're at it; it," he called back, "Lest you wish to do all my bidding; bidding."

Oh, frag, no, Bombshell would not be doing that. He could spare the cash for a daily maid service, if it meant His Highness wouldn't try to whip the mech around like a mule. Really, what was the appeal again in bagging this brat for his own? He'd have to work hard to remind himself, the kittycon was loathe to realize.

**xxXxXxx**

**6 decacycles later**

**xxXxXxx**

"Honey, I'm home," Bombshell called, shutting the door behind him. He locked it, tossing his keys and bag to the side, marching through the condo. He smelled like hot dogs and the narcotics dealer knew that the scent infuriated his bondmate, who found the food utterly disgusting, yet still he headed straight for the berthroom, expecting to find the youngling praying or sitting in wait on the berth.

Shrapnel was not there. Perplexed, the kittycon walked in further, checking around the trunks and the armoire, kicking pillows and blankets aside, even stomping through the closet-turned-shrine, but still found not a single black hair of the younger puma. Olfactory sensors twitching at the foul incense Shrapnel was persistent on burning daily, Bombshell finally retreated from the brat's royal tribal retreat, truly confused now. He wasn't surprised to not find his mate in the living room (considering how much he detested the mech's technical gadgets and games), but the kitchen had obviously been put to use and that was even more shocking.

Shrapnel did not cook. The prince was  _above_  that sort of menial task! As he had ranted one whole week to Bombshell not too long ago... So why exactly was there pots and pans, utensils and bowls piled high in the sink; covered with various oddly-coloured goop?

"There you are; are...," a vocalizer started behind him.

Bombshell turned to face the youngling he had just been thinking about, optic ridge raised in mild curiosity at the robes he wore. Now, it wasn't too say that Shrapnel didn't wear robes on a regular basis -in fact, that's essentially all he wore, all the time- it was that these ones looked astonishingly different. For one, they were silver. Not red, gold, or black or mauve... silver. Usually the prince's choice of robes covered every inch of his frame from throat to ankle, these didn't. Billowing sleeves swallowed tiny servos, tapering off until the shoulders, where they hung freely off the side. A ribbon of metallic robin blue wrapped around the upper hems, circling back to the collar of the main robe, which also dipped incredibly low, barely covering the plating of Shrapnel's chestplates. Matching metallic sash was tied around the slim waist, trailing over the floor, almost distracting Bombshell from a truly fascinating detail.

The silver robe, extending to the floor, had two wide-gaping slits on either side... Humbly filled with lace, yes, but still quite sheer enough to easily display the slender limbs, leading up to a teasing hint of aft.  _So_  not traditional to tribal standards, the larger kittycon believed.

"You're late; late," a scathing hiss accused, drawing Bombshell's attention upwards.

"What?," he replied stupidly for a moment, before shaking off his stupor under the scrutiny of those angry, violet optics. "Eh, right, well... I stink. Guess I'll go shower. By the way, what are you up to?"

The youngling's scowl deepened. "Working that ghastly vendor job still; still? Go; go," he commanded, waving his sleeves forward, "Cleanse yourself quickly; quickly! I'll be on the patio, waiting for you; you."

That was new.

"Oh; oh," Shrapnel paused as he turned around, more than likely to head back out on the patio desk from hence he'd come, "I left you some appropriate attire in the bathroom; room. Be sure to wear them before you come; come."

….and so was that.

Was he dreaming? Had Brainstorm sent him into some strange and twisted parallel universe? In a daze, Bombshell promptly turned and headed for the washroom as he had said he would, finding the clothes that had been supposedly left for him. Picking them up, the vendor stared at the black and silver robe that unfolded before him, wondering what had come over his prince and what strange surprise he had in store.

**xxXxXxx**

Fifteen kliks later, and a really hot and processor-clearing douse under the spray, the narcotics dealer was strutting out onto the patio, tying his robe's sash tighter. "Shrapnel," he began irritably, "What's the mess in the kitchen for? And why on Unicron's aft do I have to wear-"

The mech stopped dead in his tracks, dumbfounded. Whatever he had expected upon coming out, this was not it. Candles sat precariously on the railing edge in perfect lines, their little flames fighting for place among the city's twinkling lights; casting the entire deck in a warm glow and leading a direct path to the low table on the other side. Upon it, a feast, multiple dishes set and swollen on their plates, exotic and unusual to the kittycon, but emitting such a delightful scent that it called to his very piping. At his entrance, Shrapnel had risen from the mound of seating cushions, standing submissively in wait; beckoning Bombshell closer with a shyly raised servo and half-masted optics.

The older Insectipuma tread down the ornate path slowly, still convinced that this was a dream, but not once did Shrapnel move or otherwise give any indication that this was some sort of trap. The youngling presented the black mech with his seat, sitting only when Bombshell had; leaning over the table and grasping an ornate jug in his servos. He poured what appeared to be a rich wine into an equally as ornate goblet, presenting the cup to his companion, cupped delicately between both servos and helm lowered meekly.

Bombshell didn't know what to do. So he simply took the goblet. "Eh... thank you?," he mumbled, taking a quick sip before placing the cup down. "Shrapnel, what...?"

The prince still did not answer. Question going flat on his glossa, the mech watched as Shrapnel gracefully took hold of a plate next, presenting its strange, breaded dish to the other. Steam wafted upwards, carrying with it scent, causing Bombshell's olfactory sensor to twitch minutely as his fingers reached out for one of the delicate treats. The narcotics dealer paused in an instant, noticing something oddly familiar about the smell. Something...

Intoxicating...

There was a clang as the plate was slapped to the side suddenly, sending its little breaded appetizers rolling across the deck. Shrapnel shuttered his optics in absolute shock at the action, processor lagging, trying to make sense of what just happened. "W-what; what...," he stuttered, quickly getting angry, "W-what are you; you-?"

"Shut up!," Bombshell snarled, rising to his pedes immediately. "You think you're being cheeky, do ya?," he continued, fangs bared. "I can smell what you've put in the food, brat! Did you think I wouldn't notice?! I sell drugs for a living!"

The mech turned, grabbed the table's edge, and with a toss, flipped the table and sending all of its luxurious dishes crashing to the deck floor. "I've put up with a lot of your stupid tribal bullslag, but this I won't take you little vermin king!," he bellowed, rounding on the youngling. "There goes your lil' 'dinner'. So what now, hm?"

Shrapnel stared at the destruction, optics wide and disbelieving; gaze snapping to Bombshell as he was called, a sheen of coolant coating them. That was a strange look... Before the larger kittycon could contemplate on it longer, the youngling turned and ran for the berthroom, slamming the door shut behind him as he disappeared inside.

"Fine, whatever," Bombshell spat, looking at the wasted food derisively, "What a fragging mess..." Yanking off the robe, the puma headed back inside as well, grabbing a beer from the fridge before turning on a porno and settling himself comfortably on the couch for the rest of the night.

**xxXxXxx**

"Shrapnel... Shrapnel, open the fragging door. I need to get some slagging clothes!" Bombshell pounded on the berthroom door again, groaning as he looked at his watch. He rarely ever had to go out to do anything and so, didn't mind re-wearing the same clothes twice in a row, given that they weren't filthy. Unfortunately, yesterorn he had played as hot-dog vendor and only had the puma's choice of robe to change into after, and he needed to be at Wrecker headquarters that orn for a meeting.

"Listen, you've been holed up in there all week!," he shouted again, nearly punching the door now, "I need some clean pants and shirts. Let me in, or I'll break this slagging thing down!"

Something shuffled within and finally the lock turned; the narcotics dealer quickly yanked the door open, not even giving Shrapnel a second to change his mind. He was partially surprised to see the prince dressed in his royal attire once more, an open trunk waiting by the berth. "...do I even want to know what you're up to this time?," Bombshell asked, crossing the room quickly. He pushed aside a coromandel screen, revealing the hidden dresser containing his few clothes.

The answer was soft and nearly missed. "...I am returning to my tribe; tribe."

"Oh yeah?," the mech turned, smirking cruelly at the prince. "How come?"

Shrapnel turned his optics away from Bombshell instantly. "To attend a very important festival; val," he elaborated. "My people are expecting me; me. If I do not go, than I would not be a suitable ruler; ruler."

"And we can't be shattering others' expectations, now can we?," the kittycon chuckled slightly, heading out of the room, fresh clothes in his servo. "Yeah, yeah, alright. Do whatever you want. Just don't leave a mess on your way out." Waving a servo casually, Bombshell turned into the washroom to finish getting ready, not once looking back on the silent Insectipuma.

**xxXxXxx**

His people cheered as he walked through the gates, crowded in a tight circle, screaming out praises and joy to see the sight of their much missed prince. Smiling politely, Shrapnel greeted them all with a slightly raised servo; a roaring echo returning at his action.

"Your majesty!," priestesses gasped, coming forward quickly. They bowed, rising to their pedes, staring at the youngling's knees as they spoke. "We are so very glad for your presence during the festival, but where are your robes! You are not dressed for the celebrations!"

"I am afraid I had left my ceremonial robes here when I left; left," Shrapnel answered, gesturing for the femmes to follow. "After all, I am bonded now and with a mate; mate. Those childish robes would not do in my new life; life."

"Ah," the Head priestess exclaimed, "Yes, yes, you are right, your Highness. We shall prepare something to befit your new title at once!" She turned immediately to summon tailors forward.

"Your mate must have been most honoured by your Lordship's offering the first night," a younger priestess commented, bowing, her face lit. "The Goddess must be especially overjoyed!"

"Yes; yes...," Shrapnel answered softly, feeling his spark twinge painfully at the reminder. What Bombshell had done... It was unthinkable; unmentionable! Not a single one of his tribe members would understand or even fathom why the other kittycon would have done what he had. Fists clenching within his sleeves, the youngling held his chin high, forcing a smile to his face. His optics remained dim though. "Yes, it was a magnificent offer; offer. The Goddess will be most pleased; pleased."

His gathered entourage beamed at the statement, ushering the prince into his royal chambers, to get changed for the festivities.

**xxXxXxx**

He hated meetings. Groaning as Yoketron finally quit his droning, Bombshell quickly gathered his things, getting up and lazily marching out the door after the others. Brainstorm tried to wave him down, probably to show him something, but honestly the kittycon just didn't care. He wanted to go home, get some take-out and booze, put on a decent porn vid and just veg for the rest of the night. After all, there was nothing better to do without Shrapnel to frag.

Why had he just up and disappeared off to the Tribes anyway? Primus only knew, considering the brat had been insistent on never going back. Not until he'd been knocked up anyhow, and despite his few tries, Bombshell currently hadn't made that a reality. It seemed less likely that was going to happen now since the daring cub had tried to poison him. Really? Poison, a narcotics dealer? How stupid could you get?

"S'cuse me Razorclaw," the Insectipuma grumbled, trying to move around the lion's frame. The predakitty stared quietly, taking a step back.

"Oh! Oh, Bombshell!," Divebomb squealed, coming out of a side room. No guesses there what those two had just been up to. "How are you! Oh, you must be having lots of fun, yes? Oh, oh, how is your bondmate faring?! He's Insectipuma, correct?"

Bombshell was forced to stop as the lioness blocked his path, making a face as she mentioned Shrapnel. "How do you even-"

"She knows who everyone is with," Razorclaw politely answered. "Don't question it."

"Yeah, okay...," the shorter mech grumbled.

"So, so, so!," Divebomb bounced, tail swishing up a storm behind her. Her optics gleamed gleefully and her intakes quickened. "Tell! Details! I'm not so familiar with Insectipuma traditions but I know all the Tribes' festival falls on the same month, so how was it?! What did you do? Oh, oh, it must have been so fantastic! The Goddess must be so impressed! I mean-"

"...what are you talking about?," Bombshell cut in exasperatedly, confused and really not wanting to participate in the femme's mind games at the moment. Two stunned expressions stared back at him. "Listen, I don't know what you are going on about. I know slag all about tribal rituals, but if you're that desperate to find out, go talk to the brat. He ran back to the Tribes to be with 'his people'."

Razorclaw canted his helm an inch, his visor dim. "Bombshell... Did you receive an offer?"

"What offer?," the kittycon demanded, even less patient. "The only thing the kid did this month, was try poisoning me with some of his home-made cooking. Unfortunately for him, I've got a nose for narcotics and I tossed that slag in the trash where it belonged. Otherwise, he's been holed up in his room until he had to go back home for 'royal duties'."

Divebomb straightened up in a flash, her face drained of all previous excitement, leaving only a mask of horror; quickly transforming into one of enraged disbelief. "Y-you... you threw a-away... the offering?," she gaped. "H-how... you... how could you..."

"How could I wha-AAAAOOOOOOH!" Bombshell crashed against the adjacent wall as the lioness suddenly lunged for him, fangs and claws bared, hunger in her flashing optics. Razorclaw intercepted within nanokliks, crashing into the floor with his mate; growling and wrestling as she tried to claw and bite her way past him and to the Insectipuma. Spark pulsating so fast it left him dizzy, the vendor weakly shuffled away as Razorclaw rose to his pedes, tackling the charging Divebomb again, back into the closet they'd occupied earlier. Her snarls and roars continued for a klik after the door had been slammed shut, before a different sound altogether filtered out of the room.

Fist clenched to his aching spark, Bombshell shuffled faster down the hall, eager to get out of the building and away from the psycho femme that had just tried to eat him for breakfast.

**C.M.D: How many of you thought I was done with these two? I'm happy to say, no I'm not XD**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	23. Blades and First Aid XI

**C.M.D: It's so nice to be writing again! Some ideas come faster to me than others, but my mind's buzzing with plenty of plot bunnies and I'm super stoked to share them with everyone! For now, enjoy the few updates I have this month and keep an eye out for more next month on the 14 or 15th.**

**Title: Blades and First Aid XI**  
**Rating: T**

Setting down his suitcase, the australian shepherd turned about and slowly studied his new room, feeling very weak and frail but hopeful. There was a gentle thump behind him, and turning, First Aid wasn't surprised to see Ratchet standing in the berthroom doorway; a box of the smaller autodog's things at his pedes.

"Is it...," the labrador paused and continued on, "I wasn't really sure what to get for your new place. Is everything to your liking?"

First Aid smiled as well as he was able, still aware how fractured it appeared. The ability to even smile though was not one to take lightly, considering how long it had been since the action was more than an unrealistic concept. "It is," he answered simply. "Thank you. The yellow was a nice touch."

And it was. The colour on the walls was gentle and warm, reminiscent of a bornling's room, giving the same sensation of a fresh and secure start. Something that was a huge necessity in the younger mech's life. Ratchet had even added soft, pastel green bedding and white furniture to the rest of the décor to encourage the safe atmosphere. First Aid never knew that the older autodog was so great at interior design.

Coughing self-consciously, Ratchet rubbed at the side of his face, glancing in the other direction. "Well, you know...," he mumbled, trailing off. "Anyways," he continued, waving the same servo about, pushing at the box he'd brought in with a pede, "Where'd you like me to put these things?"

"You may leave them just there," First Aid replied. "I'll decide a spot for them shortly."

Nodding, Ratchet looked about the small apartment, obviously distracted. The australian shepherd opened his suitcase in the meantime, sensing another question to follow the first couple, and wasn't too surprised when the vet cleared his vocalizer again.

"First Aid, you... Are you certain you want to do this?" First Aid looked up to his superior. Ratchet fidgeted slightly under the waiting gaze, ears turning a faint magenta as he flushed in embarrassment. "I-i mean, I... You're a strong pup. I don't doubt it. Yet... Do you feel it's too soon to move out on your own?"

"I can't stay with you forever, sir," the assistant smiled kindly. "I would only get in your way."

"Not so," Ratchet gruffed, frowning a little now, "I specifically have a spare berthroom for such things, and you should know, more than anyone else, that my home is yours any time you need it."

Hearing that filled the younger mech's spark with such intense emotion, that he struggled to keep the tears at bay, even as his smile grew an amazing few more centimeters. "T... thank you, Ratchet," First Aid said, "But... But this is something that I have to do. Want to do."

The labrador vented, unable to push in the face of his companion's reassurance. "About tomorrow's shift-"

"I'll be coming for that too," the australian shepherd added. "I've been looking forward to going into the hospital again."

Ratchet's whole frame slumped this time, defeated. He wasn't going to dissuade First Aid from any of his decisions it seemed, and that was probably for the best anyway. "I'll be here at six, to pick you up. You still drink mocha?"

Baby blue optics shuttered in shock at the inquiry; not a word escaping First Aid. "Y-you," he finally stuttered, feeling suddenly just as embarrassed, "Y-you don't h-have to do th-that, sir. I-i can m-make it into the o-office m-myself!"

"I don't _have_ to," Ratchet interjected, slipping his servos in his pockets stubbornly, "But I _want_ to, First Aid. There's nothing wrong with meeting my assistant at their apartment with morning oil, especially if we're both going to the same place together. Consider it just 'killing two birds with one stone'."

"And," the older mech continued, while the other still gaped, flabbergasted, "I want to remind you to get some rest before tomorrow. It's gonna be a fairly busier day than what you're used to... But, if you find that you can't sleep, there's a few documentaries on tv that I thought you might like to watch. I wrote the channels and their times on a sticky; it's right there on the screen. Also, you have my personal number already on speed dial on your new home phone. Just hit one, then star, and it'll ring out to me instantly."

First Aid stared and stared at the labrador, processor in a whirl and optics growing hotter as they swelled with even more coolant. "S-sir, y-you...?"

Ratchet smiled, small but kindly, shrugging casually. "I have faith in you, First Aid, but if you have any needs, call me. At any time. And I mean that to," he said, lifting a finger and shaking it lightly. "I don't care if it's four in the morning- if you need someone, and you're able to, give me a ring. I'll be available to talk, come over, whatever you need. Always."

"T...thank you," the australian shepherd vented at last, feeling all the emotion rush out from his spark and through his vocalizer; tears slipping down his cheeks as he humbly bowed his helm, "T-thank you f-for s-so m-much, si-sir..."

Shaking arms wrapped around the wider torso when the vet approached, hugging his assistant close. For a long while, they stood like that, until Ratchet felt First Aid calm down again. "If, uh... if you don't need me any more right now, I'll take my leave. Let you start spreading your roots here," he offered.

The option was still there for First Aid to choose otherwise, but he smiled and nodded, granting Ratchet permission to leave. For now, he wanted to try and finish settling in on his own. It had been decacycles before he'd felt he carried even a shred of his former independency. Taking his time, Ratchet gathered his own things, bid First Aid goodnight and kindly reminded him that he'd stop by in the morning with their oil.

The younger mech waved him off, still feeling a bit afraid and uncertain, but also so very strong.

**xxXxXxx**

Deft fingers grabbed the sill and, with a hard yank, broke the latch on the other side, lifting the pane up and open. Broken, little metal pieces rained down onto the living room floor, but the intruder paid no mind. On any other orn, this might have been something to concern himself with; this orn though, it was just fortunate that standard buildings had poor lock mechanisms. Pulling his weight up onto the sill next, the mech sat perched in the window, staring with flared optics as he realized the vacant state of the apartment.

Shoulders sagging, the autodog slipped inside, stirring up dust as he made a slow path through the room. Living room, kitchen, washroom... all of it was empty. Red fingers trailed softly over the wall as the intruder headed for the berthroom next, knob cold in his servo, and the space on the other side equally as such.

He should of guessed...

But how could he -while still clutching to faint, fading hopes- possibly imagine that First Aid would leave the second place he called home? Yet the empty apartment was proof enough -the dust settling into the corners and grooves just salt to the gaping wound.

He'd really fragged things up.

"See, Blades...," his voice chastised lowly, rough and flat, "See what you do? You're just a curse upon this family... You chase away everyone good..."

There was no contesting the logic, no matter how cruel the words. Sinking slowly, Blades collapsed to the bare floor; forehead pressed to the wood as he stared blankly into the grain, hungrily breathing in the vanishing scent of his brother. He should have just stayed locked up in the basement at his creators' home...

A few months back in Iacon would not forgive him of the atrocities he'd made against First Aid.

**xxXxXxx**

**Six Decacycles Later**

**xxXxXxx**

Fingers tapped away quickly, click-clacking through reports almost as rapidly as running water from a pipe. Finishing yet another bundle, First Aid paused and saved, getting to his pedes and filing the just-transcribed folders back to the filing cabinet where they belonged. Glancing at the clock on the wall, the mech made a stop off at the counter by the back of the office, turning on the percolator with enough oil for four 'bots, before returning to the desk.

The machine just dinged to announce its' pot was full the moment Ratchet walked into the office, groaning. "I just don't get why some 'bots even bother coming into the hospital," he grumbled, heading immediately for the counter and pouring himself a fresh mug.

"Oh?," the australian shepherd piped up, a small smile quirking at shy lip components.

"Some super-charged youngling was just in, fussing up a storm because he'd decided it would be a great idea to lodge a petro-rabbit up his valve- and it got stuck!," the vet elaborated, free servo smacking at the air as he walked towards his assistant, plopping in a free chair. "And he couldn't understand why the poor creature ripped up his valve with its claws in retaliation! Primus, what is this world coming to?"

Despite himself, First Aid chuckled shortly, and caught the warm look of relief shining in his superior's optics. Suddenly flustered, the smaller autodog turned back to the computer, preparing to continue his transcriptions.

"...It's good to hear you laugh," Ratchet softly spoke up, still staring at the australian shepherd.

Glancing at him, the assistant half-shrugged, loss for words. What could be said? It had been almost two whole stellar cycles since the whole ordeal with Vortex, the cult, Blades... and, though everything was still hard, some things were becoming easier. There hadn't been much to laugh about until just now, but his first few months back in his beloved hospital were definitely having the best effects on First Aid.

Just as Ratchet was about to say something again, the phone rang. Both autodogs stared at it somewhat surprised, having forgotten about the world beyond their isolated little space, before the labrador reached forward and picked it up. "Hello?," he asked neutrally. Optics flared at the responding voice on the other side.

"Ah... Ignis," he announced, his gaze turning to First Aid. Ratchet kindly gestured if he should take the call or hang up.

This having not been the first time his "sister" called the hospital, the australian shepherd silently signed back for the older mech to go ahead. In the beginning, he couldn't even stand to hear the femme's name nor bear the thought of what she or anyone else might be saying on the other line. In time though, First Aid realized how difficult this must have been on his own family -his creators especially, who suffered through the machinations of a third, cult-like faction during the war. Thus, he had graciously allowed Ratchet to act as a go-between for him and his family, providing them updates, while still granting First Aid the space he needed.

"Yes, yes, Ignis," the vet continued, swirling his mug as he shifted grip on the receiver, "No, everything is alright. First Aid is doing very well. Yes, he has a new place. I'm assuming you tried to visit his old apartment? Mhmm, yes, I know you pup."

Listening with only half an ear, the younger mech returned to his work, fighting a small knot of guilt that wormed its way into his fuel tanks. He'd never thought to update his family on his new address and Ratchet had respectively kept that information to himself. Did they all go over together at one point, hoping to find him at home, only to be greeted by a vacant apartment?

"No, no, it's a nice place. Helped paint it myself. Sort of." The labrador paused to scoff. "Now listen here, missy, I can do something other than doctoring! That's just rude...," he said, a hint of amusement in his vocalizer. Glancing up, First Aid was not surprised to see Ratchet smiling, and the other autodog felt himself smile in turn.

The vet's expression sombered a bit as the conversation continued. "Yes, he's adjusting well. No... I'm afraid he still needs his space. His request." A long pause followed, in which Ratchet listened kindly to Ignis on the other line, glancing frequently at the australian shepherd sitting stiffly behind the computer. A smile, softer and more emotional, spread across the old mech's face as he stared at his companion fully, nodding to the phone.

"I'll tell him, Ignis. Yes. Take care, pup. We look forward to hearing from you again soon." Then he hung up.

"...they send you their love," Ratchet informed after a lengthy stretch of silence. First Aid looked up from the phone, not realizing that he'd been staring it down for a few kliks now.

"W-what...?"

"Their love. They send it to you. And early birthday wishes," the labrador added, gaze softening. "They really miss you. They want you to know that they're okay with waiting, but they hope that you will talk to them yourself sometime soon. Ignis said that everyone understands what you went through and they wish to help in whatever way possible. 'We don't want you to feel as if you're going this alone', she said."

It was hard to get the words out. Squeezing the edge of the desk, First Aid swallowed sharply, pushing past the ball in his vocalizer. "I-i... I know..."

"How are you doing?," Ratchet asked, taking a sip from his mug; setting it on the desk a moment after.

"F... fine," the assistant vented heavily, feeling coolant glaze his optics, "I guess. I-i just..." He stopped and Ratchet waited until he was ready to continue. "I-i... I m-miss them, b-but I can't..."

The labrador reached across the desk, taking both of the smaller autodog's servos in his own. "As long as you know and believe that they love and care for you, Aid," he shared gently, "Than it's okay that right now you don't have the strength to cross that bridge. They'll still be there, waiting for you on the other side, and when that urge gets strong enough... it'll carry you all the way over and to your family."

Through swimming optics, First Aid smiled, feeling the love and faith of his family echo strongly in his spark via his mentor's words. There were still cracks and holes in his being, and perhaps they'd always remain there, but he was healing. The younger mech knew that; he could feel that. He no longer cursed his family or hated Ignis or wished Streetwise gone or...

Fingers clenched larger servos as Blades flashed across his processor, his spark sinking a few notches lower in his chestplates. Uncertainty ate at him, alongside a dash of fear, and the australian shepherd struggled to keep his composure as he politely withdrew his servos. He reminded himself firmly, over and over again silently, that if he could face his family, then one orn he would be able to face his brother too.

Little by little...

Accepting Ratchet's gracious distraction, First Aid returned to his work, conversing amiably with his superior as he tucked away pointless anxieties for another orn.

**xxXxXxx**

"Mom," Blades called out tiredly, opening the kitchen door, "I'm home..."

No one answered the bull terrier and, somewhat depressed further by the lack there of, he walked inside the house, dropping his duffel bag on the floor. Another long and forcibly busy orn at Hot Spot's office had done little to distract the mercenary from his never-ending dark thoughts; instead, leaving only his frame stiff and his spark drained. Enough to warrant a trip to the basement and his borrowed cot. Blades was just on his way out the kitchen when he noticed a small, green box on the table; accompanied by a slice of coconut cream cake. A spark of wonder and excitement flared through the autodog as he raced for the table suddenly, calling over his shoulder plating.

"Is First Aid here? Did he bring me some cake?"

Pedesteps softly walked up to the kitchen doorway behind him and Blades turned his helm, hopeful. They were dashed immediately though when he saw it was Streetwise.

"...Where's First Aid?," the mercenary asked, turning his helm back to his cake, fingers playing with the ribbon idly with growing excitement. "He still around or-"

"Blades," Streetwise cut in gently, "First Aid hasn't talked to us even once since he was brought back home. He hasn't visited either."

Blades' shoulders tensed and his fingers curled around the cake box tightly. Inside, his spark dimmed with gloom. "Then...how...?"

Streetwise walked forwards, seating himself at the table, across from Blades. This meant that he was in the other's sight, something that wasn't helping to calm the red mech's quickly rising hackles. Once the akita was settled, he spoke again. "I was the one who bought it. I never realized you liked coconut cream," Streetwise kindly commented, "You never cared for coconut when we were little."

"Grew up," Blades bit back, slightly irked. "Taste changes. How the frag did you know to get me this cake? I never told you what I liked."

Streetwise smiled sadly, servos folded in his lap. "I know, Blades. And you know that, with our history, I never expected you to update me on the things that went on in your life. I just wished to test a theory..."

The bull terrier snarled for real this time. "What theory?," he demanded. "Stop avoiding the question?!" The white mech flinched slightly as his brother punched the table; the wood denting under his fist.

"Blades...," he sighed softly, "Do you remember the party mom had planned months ago? Do you remember when we were waiting for First Aid to arrive? Then us going for a short 'walk'...?"

This time, it was Blades' turn to cringe. He glanced around him anxiously before leaning forward. "I thought I told you never to talk about that!," he hissed threateningly. "What are you-"

"I found cake," Streetwise cut in, ignoring the stunned look the younger autodog bore, "Coconut cream, in a green box. Mashed beside the bush we had... frequented temporarily. Insignificant, I'm sure, but it had not been there before our tumble and my hardware is insistent in handling anomalies appropriately. Eventually, I found the exact location selling this type of cake, in this box..."

"What's your point, Streetwise?," Blades grumbled, slowly sitting down in a free chair. "What the slag does cake have anything to do with this?"

The akita raised a servo. "I will get to the point shortly. I apologize in advance that my hardware requires that I report in such a descript, analytic method," the white mech answered. "But, please, bear with me a little longer."

"As I was saying," Streetwise continued, "I discovered the cake shop that this particular confectionary had been purchased at. I found out afterwards that it was bought frequently by only a few customers, of which I was granted the knowledge of their identities."

The mercenary shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but remained patiently silent. At his action, Streetwise again smiled, sharing a strange expression with his brother. Blades quirked an optic ridge at the look and stopped his fidgeting altogether.

"Coconut Cream... it's your favourite, isn't it?"

The bull terrier nodded slowly.

"Mom and dad- they do not know, do they?"

Blades slowly shook his helm.

"Ignis?"

"She... might...," the red mech quietly answered.

Streetwise nodded, venting softly. "Yes... I thought that was the case then... Blades, I know you weren't present at the time, but Ratchet informed us that First Aid's behaviour up until before his kidnapping seemed to be the result of a traumatic or overwhelming emotional situation," the older autodog shared. "And now... I think I know what may have driven him away from us so suddenly."

Blue optics raised, locking into his own deeply, and Blades felt his spark wither meekly in response.

"First Aid... he always knew what your favourites were. He always knew what to do to make you happy. I think he was content with this... but, secretly, I think he also wished for more," Streetwise sighed softly. "I think, he truly loved you Blades, and I think it was him that stumbled onto us that day. I'm certain it's why he had run away; why he couldn't face us anymore. We had betrayed him... but worse, he felt abandoned, by you."

The akita paused, staring up at Blades quietly. The poor mech didn't even realize he shook violently in his chair, servos curled around the table's edge and intakes coming in short, quick bursts. Reaching forward, Streetwise gently grasped one of his brother's servos, squashing his own cringe at the one Blades gave.

"I think...," he spoke softly, "That you love him too, Blades. I've never seen you so scared... or desperate... And all for him." Smiling sadly, the white autodog pulled back, glancing at the clock. "Despite what's happened, Blades, I think he still loves you. I bet, even now, he's waiting for you to come and help him. You should go... It's what you want to do, after all."

Catching his intakes, Blades slowly glanced up, absorbing everything that had just been said. He barely waited an astrosecond before he was leaping to his pedes, rushing out the kitchen door again with a flurry. Watching as the second hand slowly made a full circle around the clock, Streetwise turned his attention back to the cake; wrapping it up in its box and tossing the entire thing into the garbage.

**C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	24. Insectipuma VI

**C.M.D: Another month, another update. I hope everyone is enjoying the insectipuma chapters as much as I am!**

**Title:** Insectipuma VI  
 **Rating:** T

Shrapnel hadn't returned.

Bombshell scowled, glaring at his black t.v screen, seeing only his reflection staring back at him; equally as frustrated and sprawled lazily across the couch. The month had ended, and whatever festival was going on in the Insectipuma lands must have come to a close by now, yet still Shrapnel had not come back. There was no word or indication that the brat was ever going to return. That should have been a blessing to the mech really, but Bombshell found himself only growing more and more annoyed.

He had married the prince. He'd wanted that gorgeous, lil' frame and he'd even subjected himself to the foolish notion of marriage to have him. And now the youngling had disappeared back off to his tribe, leaving Bombshell alone, jacking off to porn and spending quiet nights in a berthroom that had long since stopped being his own. The kittycon was horny, slaggit!

Not to mention, confused and angry as frag, since Razorclaw sent him a comm, wisely informing the fellow Wrecker to stay away from headquarters unless he wished to be disemboweled by a strangely irate Divebomb.

What was all that about anyhow?

Shaking his helm, Bombshell decided to put the hormonal femme out of his processor, continuing his glaring at the dark t.v; disinterested in what pay-per-view had to offer this night and once again wondering what had become of his dutiful, religious nut of a bondmate.

**xxXxXxx**

"What now, Bombshell?," Swindle sighed, the kittycon's exasperated face flashing onto the vid screen.

The puma paced back and forth before his desk angrily, tail tapping against the ground like a drum beat. "I require your services," he replied, lip component slightly curled.

"With your attempt to woo the tribal prince? I thought you-"

"No!," Bombshell quickly snapped, rounding on the screen. "I've already been bonded to him. For almost a year now. The lil' brat was insistent on coming back to the city with me and he's lived in my place since then, but now he's disappeared somewhere off into Insectipuma territory!"

Swindle shuttered his optics slowly. "Wow... You actually fragged with the Tribes and stole their ordained heir...," he stated slowly. "You truly have no shame. So what do you want me to do now? The kid probably smartened up and realized what a greaseball you were and returned to break the marriage."

The narcotics dealer scoffed at that. "As if that was possible! The brat would sooner die than lose face before his people. No," the puma growled, pacing again, "Shrapnel's too proud for that... Yet, he was cowardly enough to run away after trying to poison me, and won't come back! That's why I need you."

"Wait," the younger mech gaped, leaning in a little closer to the screen, "Are you for real? He actually tried to poison you? Slag, I would have probably run off too!"

Bombshell glared at the screen, tail twitching nastily. Rolling his optics, Swindle straightened in his seat, taping away at a laptop to his left. "Alright, listen, I can track him down but you know it's going to cost you. Though I don't see why you don't just go back to Insectipuma tribes yourself and get him."

"Just do it," the narcotics dealer hissed, "While you're at it, find out what this supposed tribal festival is. It started last month, on the first. Apparently, it's important."

"Certainly," Swindle sighed. "That's also extra. There won't be much accessible via regular channels, so I'm going to have to-" An explosion rocked the apartment on the devon rex's side of the screen, knocking the kittycon out of his seat. "MOTHERFRA-"

Bombshell, alarmed, moved closer to the vid screen. "What the slag is happening over th-"

"I-i have to get back to you later!," Swindle shouted, scrambling into sight again.

"What?! No!," Bombshell growled, "Swindle, unless you're dying, I want this information within the next HOUR! You got me! If you don't, I'll be sure to trash some of your contacts!"

"WHAT?," the tan mech screamed back. "You arrogant, sick fr-" Another explosion rocked Swindle on his pedes again. "Fine!," the devon rex continued loudly. "Whatever! I'll fragging see you in a cycle!"

And then the line went dark and Bombshell, with nothing better to do, went back to pacing angrily in his living room.

**xxXxXxx**

Bombshell was just grabbing himself a beer from the fridge when there came a pounding at his door. "Who the slag are you?," he shouted, slowly walking out of the kitchen, in no rush to head for the door.

"It's Swindle!," the familiar vocalizer replied through the wood. "Now hurry up and open!"

"Swindle?," Bombshell gaped, unlocking and opening the door. He was immediately shoved aside as a little blur went tearing by, Swindle pushing in as well. "Woah, hey! What the frag are you doing here? I didn't invite you!"

The puma chased after the devon rex, who went straight for the living room, taking up perch at his desk before pulling a laptop out of his satchel bag. "Well, too bad," the merchant replied. "You wanted results within a cycle, this is the only way you're going to get them. Wildrider, stay away from that oven!"

"Wildri-" Bombshell turned around as he heard something crash, finding a grey, little sparkling smiling up at him with his mouth of fangs; standing on top of the oven door he had managed to unhinge from the unit. "What the frag is that thing?!"

"That," Swindle answered, not turning away from his computer, "Would be my son. Keep an eye on him. He's already blown up one stove tonight -I don't really care to experience that twice."

"Excuse me, _blew up_?" Bombshell shook his helm, almost spilling his beer as he waved a servo around. "Okay, no, listen, I hate kids. You need to leave. And take this fire-hazard with you."

"How do you think _I_ feel?," the devon rex smirked, not budging. "I'm afraid you'll just have to deal with it for an hour, Bombshell. You want your answers, and I would like a good night's sleep for once, but since I'm not getting that, I'm going to need the finances to replace and repair anything Wildrider damages."

"No, no, I don't thi-" Another crash. This time, the puma turned and immediately rushed for the sparkling, grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and pulling him out of the oven. "Alright you lil' runt, come play out on the balcony. It's got short walls and sheer drops down the side of the building!" Without a second thought, Bombshell tossed Wildrider out onto the balcony, shutting the door and locking it.

"...is that the Wreckers file database?," the narcotics dealer asked incredulously, coming up behind Swindle. "How'd you get in without Yoketron knowing?"

"I just use Onslaught's account," Swindle replied casually, tapping away at the keys. "It's come in quite handy over the years."

"And how does he not know that you're using his pass to get in?," Bombshell inquired.

"Oh, _please_ ," the merchant scoffed. "My dad doesn't even realize he has an account to the database. I swiped the information from his office and have been using it since. It's not even like he understands how to use computers anyhow."

The larger kittycon couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. "You have some ball bearings on you, cub."

"Yeah, yeah... That's nice," Swindle returned flatly. "Now go sit down while I work. Hovering is a nuisance." Not going to take too much insult to that, Bombshell turned and plopped on his couch, stretching languidly as he sipped at his drink.

It was quiet for some time, oddly so; just the taping of keyboard keys and the occasional muffled ruckus from Wildrider out on the balcony. It was beginning to lull Bombshell into slumber before Swindle spun around in his seat, exclaiming loudly, "You idiot!"

"H-huh? What?" The puma shook his helm, glaring as his attentiveness returned. "What the frag is your problem?"

"See, see this is exactly why you shouldn't have messed around with the Tribes!," Swindle groaned in annoyance, turning back around in his seat. "Primus, the least you could have done was make use of the Wreckers' collected resource material on the Insectipuma tribes and familiarized yourself with their most important traditions!"

"What the slag are you gabbing on about now?," Bombshell grunted, sitting up.

"He wasn't trying to poison you, you big, dumb idiot," the tan mech elaborated, facing the puma again. He fixed the older kittycon with a flat look, before turning his attention to his laptop. "It was a fragging _aphrodisiac_. Harmless. For some hotshot narcotics dealer, you obviously can't tell the difference between a fun, organic sex-enhancing drug and your run-of-the-mill poison."

"Anyway!," Swindle continued, throwing up a servo when Bombshell opened his mouth, "It's all part of a tribal festival, sort of like an opening ceremony. All the tribes partake in the festival this month, but only the Insectipumas celebrate all month -starting by sharing traditional dishes made in honour of the Fertility Goddess. Part of that ritual includes a 'bot offering their mate with the laced food. This totally explains why Divebomb almost ripped off your head..."

"You know about that?," Bombshell asked, surprised.

Once more, the devon rex looked at the other mech dryly. "...The tribes don't have a lot of religious ceremonies, and though the Insectipuma tribes have the most number of various celebrations and events, this is the only one that bears the greatest significance," Swindle added. "The hope is that the Goddess will look down upon their offering and be pleased, and provide the tribe with health and happiness and an abundance of offspring."

"So...," the narcotics dealer drawled, still perplexed, "What does that mean?"

"Well, seeing as how you brutally rejected the prince's offering to you, and thus, shamed him thoroughly, especially on the most important night of his entire, religious life, and before his deity... You're fragged!," the younger mech beamed.

Standing up, Swindle slipped his laptop back inside his bag, opening up the balcony door and grabbing Wildrider before he could tear inside. "I expect payment to be sent to my account by the time I arrive at the hotel. I've already sent you my invoice, with the costs, so you can't skim. And-"

"Woah, woah, woah!," Bombshell growled, leaping to his pedes. "Wait a klik! Where do you think you're running off to? You aren't finished! I told you to track him down as well!"

Sighing, the devon rex held his squirming sparkling under one arm, staring at the larger mech head on. "Listen," he replied, "The prince hasn't gone anywhere. He's in the exact same place as when you went to go, unwisely, trick and marry the brat. You've obviously managed to piss him off royally with your ignorance, and considering the festival has come to an end and he's still there, I'd say it's a safe bet he's never coming back. You've fragged things up good, so awesome!"

Swindle sarcastically gave the puma a thumbs up, before pushing past him and heading for the door. "Don't forget to pay me!," he called back as he left. "Oh, and Bombshell, don't even bother trying to get back into the Insectipuma lands. After this affront, you're stuck with pornos or prostitutes."

The door clicked as it closed, leaving Bombshell in stunned silence.

**xxXxXxx**

Silence encompassed the dim room, not even the business of the tribe from outdoors heard through the thick curtains. Poised in royal rebellion, Shrapnel amused himself with watching the maidservant clip the long hairs from the Elder's scraggly ears. The Elder himself did nothing; his glassy optics both unseeing and his helm canted weakly to the side, while his frame lay lazily hunched in his seat, as slacken as his near-fangless mouth. The pathetic mech didn't even notice the flies that circled his frame nor did he move to swat them away when one daringly landed on his wide optics. The maidservant callously left it there.

With not an ounce of fear, she rose, with her little bowl of fur clippings and left to her other chores, and not even Shrapnel bothered to stop her on her negligence. After all, she had suffered equally as much at this glutinous fool's servo before the prince's departure. It was almost intoxicating, being in this level of control over the discovered traitor, but his almost death-like state did glean a bit from the overall enjoyment. Still...

"You're such a pathetic piece of trash; trash." Speaking to the incapacitated Elder had its merits. "You try to disgrace me and instead, the Gods see fit to rob you of your freedom; dom. Though I bet that has more to do with smoking Bombshell's toxic brew; brew." Shrapnel allowed himself a moment to smirk cruelly, thinking kindly of the kittycon in that klik. But then he remembered why he was still here within his village, tucked away in the Elder's house, his pride hurt, his beliefs shattered and his spark left tender and raw.

"...I bet you thought I'd hate him forever; ever," the prince continued softly, still trying to speak with an air of superiority; yet failing as the aching of his spark flared anew, "Sell me into prostitution, watch as I floundered and flailed, dishonoured again and again; again. Your latest poison seemed to show your true colours; colours... I'm surprised you never had a sample of me during our private lessons as well; well..."

Shrapnel rose from his seat, tipping the Elder's chair back casually, not even bothering to watch as the lowly moaning mech toppled over to the floor as he headed for the window. A crack in the curtains was the only gateway out into the real world, and the youngling stared through it like a beggar, unable to stop the rising heat that came over his optics. Outside, his people moved about contently, ignorant of their shambles and lack of necessities; young couples enjoying their new moments together, sparklings running around and hanging off the arms of their creators. Happy. In love.

And loved in return...

For the first time in a while, the puma regretted. He knew it was silly to hold any ideal, that since his creation, he was born to marry that whom was preordained and bring an heir to his collapsing Kingdom. His was a marriage of duty, never love. Yet, he'd secretly hoped in the deepest depths of his spark, that he would have a love even greater than that of his poor subjects. In Kickback, that may have been possible. He'd already had all the time in the world to grow and love his cousin, and he'd anticipated their union far more than he knew he should have. Then the Elder had grown greedy, sold out his own prince for some common fix, and pushed Shrapnel into the arms of a smooth-talking crook, who only used him before rejecting him entirely.

How could he return to Bombshell now, knowing that the brute, though carrying their energon and kinship, cared little for his own kind and had twisted the youngling into nothing more than a sex toy within his own mind?

Shrapnel may have squashed all chances of love and happiness from his processor the moment Bombshell drank of the ceremonial wine, but never had he thought that the one who would become his bondmate would turn him into a simple object.

"Like I said though; though...," the puma muttered softly, wiping quickly at his optics. "You will never see myself shrouded in shame; shame. I shall conquer this tribulation and bring fortune to my Kingdom; dom." Shrapnel turned, optics flared as he approached the Elder where he still laid; glassy optics rolling, crooked servos stiff in the air and slacken mouth wheezing around indiscernible words.

"And; and," the prince added, putting his pede on the older mech's face, slowly adding pressure, "You'll be nothing but a rotting scraplet-bag, not even buried, but left for the beasts and critters in the banished earth of the Red Lake, where your crooked soul cannot even escape; cape. As befitting a crime of treasonous scum such as yourself; self."

The poor Elder merely moaned weakly under his pede and snorting in derision, Shrapnel turned; returning to his own private house.

**xxXxXxx**

After about a week, the scent of Shrapnel's strange incense was gone. A few orns after that, the cleaning maid had even moved the rest of the prince's things into the unused closet. The sight was such a shock, that after coming home, all Bombshell could do was stare quietly into his room -fixed up like it had once been and devoid of any of the youngling's presence. It smelled faintly of hot dogs and beer as well.

Primus, did that scent make him sick.

Closing the door to his berthroom, without even once stepping inside, the puma stood for a while longer in place, the first time in forever feeling uncertain. He didn't care about the brat or his ridiculous traditions... His room looked a slag ton better without all the drapery and rugs and weird-smelling candle scrap that Shrapnel was insistent on lighting. Yet...

Yet, with all of that gone, his berthroom appeared dead, barren. It lacked any life or personality and in a strange, twisted way, it felt that Shrapnel had died as well. Bombshell hated that feeling.

"...he was just a simple brat," the kittycon hissed to himself, forcibly turning away and awkwardly marching for the kitchen. He opened the fridge and was equally as stunned by how empty it was. A couple take-out containers from the other night sat on one of the shelves, a case of beer and a lonesome jar of pickles (now just liquid) were the only things within.

When Shrapnel had been here, he was the one that informed the staff of their weekly grocery requirements, keeping his fridge and fuel tanks full...

Now there was no one to do even that.

Grabbing a bottle, Bombshell closed the fridge door, wearily heading for his couch now. He hadn't done much in terms of work this orn (just pushing around his hot dog stand again) and yet he was exhausted. Drained, really. He mulled over the reasons half-heartedly, drinking his beer until even that was empty. The narcotics dealer set it to the side without a second thought... and jolted when the tiny clank of its bottom hitting table top echoed loudly in the silence.

Shrapnel's voice would usually have taken up the entire room by now, having come out of his retreat to chastise the older mech on his late return; remind him of the dinner ('an actual meal' as he used to say) waiting in the microwave and then throw insults at him with clear directions to bathe before seeing him that night.

Now that was gone too and Bombshell had no choice but to admit that he missed every slagging thing about that youngling, and he felt so fragging stupid for never thinking to find out more about what Shrapnel was up to before it was too late.

"Such a fragging stupid... _Primus!_ ," he snarled at himself, one servo covering his face as he hunched over in his seat. He'd never bargained on the prince becoming an intricate part of his life -he'd only wanted to frag the virginal heir. Now everything seemed wrong without the mouthy youngling around. It wasn't right. Shrapnel _belonged_ here. "I... I gotta make amends. Somehow..." Bombshell lowered his servo, staring at nothing in particular as he pondered. "But how? I mean..."

Then it hit him. "Razorclaw," he mumbled, quickly rising to his pedes. He grabbed his cell, dialing in the long distance number, pacing the length of his apartment anxiously, waiting for the connection to finalize.

The predacon would know what to do. Sure, he wasn't Insectipuma, but he was part of the Tribal lands and if anyone knew the sort of rituals one had to do to make good with their bondmate, then he would.

Because, slaggit all, Shrapnel was _his_ bondmate and Unicron be damned if he let the youngling just walk out of his life forever.

**C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	25. Insectipuma VII

**C.M.D: Update period will be a little short this month, due to the fact that most of my energies have been put towards preparing for TFcon, taking place in a few days! Peter Cullen! Michael McConnohie! So many great people I'll be meeting for the first time and I can't contain my excitement!**  
**Thankfully, I've had a couple chapters finished ahead of a time and was merely waiting for them to go up next. So please enjoy!**

**Title:** Insectipuma VII **  
Rating:** T

Bombshell drove silently through the night, dimming his headlights with every mile, before shutting them off entirely. He knew it was unwise, and should he come across a highway patrol, he'd surely be ticketed, but he wanted no audience when he rolled into the Insectipuma tribe. He still had a distance to go, and turning off the main road, he paused, pulling out a flashlight and map as he studied his route once more.

It would take some time weaving through the pitted and rough side road into the village, and even then, the puma would have to abandon his car somewhere out of sight of the barrier, before continuing around its rear on foot.

A nuisance really...

The flashlight beam cut across the passenger seat, to a small ornate box -wooden, carved and laden in golden detail- catching the mech's attention for a moment. He looked at the box, his forgiveness gift, before turning his gaze back to the map.

Though he thought the idea silly and useless, it was what Razorclaw had commanded he get, should he wish to receive Shrapnel's forgiveness and at this point, Bombshell would do anything. Slaggit all... How he missed that stupid prince.

**xxXxXxx**

He couldn't sleep.

Shrapnel stared at the ceiling of his canopy berth, unable to shutter his optics or even entertain the idea of sleep. His spark was aching, terribly so, ignited by the darkness and the persistent reminder that once again he was not where he should be in his life. Sitting up, the youngling contemplated what to do, before he rose out of his berth entirely, lighting the candles spread across the room. He wanted some sort of illumination, in hopes that it would banish the loneliness and the pain along with the shadows.

But soon after, all the puma had was candles and the image of an empty berthroom, within his tribal lands.

There was no fighting the tears that came.

A creak down the hall alerted Shrapnel, who quickly turned to his door, backing further into the room slowly; optics glancing around for a weapon. His servo closed over a decorative knife, left on a small table with its bowl of fruits and nuts. Blowing out a few candles silently, the youngling stood and waited, hearing the unknown presence draw to a stop outside his door. His spark whirled in anxiousness and adrenaline, for the moment distracted from its constant grieving; pulsing hard when the handle twisted and the door ever so slowly opened.

A shadow slipped inside, lithe and quick, and Shrapnel prepared to charge forward, changing his grip on the blade...

Before it clattered on the floor entirely, his fingers having gone slack as candlelight pushed the shadows away from his midnight visitor's face.

"K-kickback; back...?"

Kickback stiffened, taking an involuntary step back as his name was uttered; his flared optics finding Shrapnel in the near darkness, before his shoulders slackened and he vented with relief. "Shrapnel; nel..."

The distance was cut down between them immediately as both puma rushed for the other, Kickback grasping Shrapnel about his shoulders, and Shrapnel grasping the sleeves of his cousin's shirt. "W-what; what...? Ho-how; how?" Words were falling from the smaller youngling's mouth rapidly, forming half thoughts and questions. He just couldn't believe this. His cousin, Kickback, here! Before him, alive! Oh, how his spark ached in relief.

"Ssh, ssh; ssh," the other puma soothed, smiling wearily, but smiling nonetheless. "When the others tried to kill me, I overpowered them and made my way back home; home. I knew I had to return to you; you. I had to save you from whatever trickery the Elder had thought up; up..."

"But; but...," Kickback paused and finally Shrapnel withdrew, having realized as well. He was bonded. Bombshell's.

"Y-you; you... you cannot be here; here. This is the royal chambers; bers...," Shrapnel mumbled softly. "You will be executed if found in my room; room. Only my mate is allowed in here now; now."

Kickback did not step forward as the other retreated, nor did he turn to leave. "I know; know...," he replied. "But I do not care; care." He ignored his cousin's startled gaze. "You've been shamed, Shrapnel; nel. And I am so sorry that I didn't come sooner; ner."

The taller puma dropped to his knees, forehead pressed to the floor as he prostrated himself before the prince. "N-no; no...," Shrapnel swallowed sharply, kneeling, trying to pull the other back up to his pedes, "Kickback, no; no... It isn't; isn't..."

"It is my fault; fault!," Kickback protested. He still did not move, though his claws scratched a little into the floor as his servos curled into fists. "He; he... That _outsider_ took you; you. Tricked the Elder, twisted him, made him sell you away; away! As if that dishonour wasn't horrible enough, you; you... you had no choice but to be unsealed by that mech; mech. Again; again... and again; again..."

"Do not just blame the outsider; sider," the shorter youngling hissed, whirling away from his cousin. He stalked back to his berth, leaning against one of the canopy posts as anger and sickness roiled through him. "The Elder; Elder... the Elder _knew_ what he was doing; doing. You did not see him Kickback; back... He has always been traitorous, he merely was waiting for the right opportunity; tunity..."

There was the soft sound of movement behind him and Shrapnel could feel Kickback standing at his backstruts, almost close enough to touch. "I; i...," said his cousin, "I do not know what he was like when facing with you, for I was too late, but I; i... I have seen his corruption; ruption. Under guise, I work now at this house; house. It is I who has been tainting his food; food. I could; could... there was no other way to make him suffer; fer..."

"Y-you; you...?" The shorter youngling turned, staring up at the other in a new light. Never would he have thought Kickback capable of such under-handed evil, but then again, did the Elder not deserve it and much more? It felt strange: a part of him proud and honoured by what Kickback had done in his name, and another part enraged and upset that he hadn't had the chance to exact revenge on the Elder himself.

"Yes; yes," Kickback answered, his shadowed optics gazing into Shrapnel's intently, before dropping. "I; i... I would have continued, but then you returned, a week into the festival and I thought it best to let the Elder live a little while longer so you may enjoy his suffering; ring."

Reminded of the festival, and the reasons as to why he had returned during it, only upset Shrapnel further; who turned his helm away as well, coolant coating his burning optics.

"But then; then... Then I noticed; iced," his cousin mumbled hesitantly, and the other puma stiffened, "I; i... It was strange, seeing you on such an important of months; months. You waited diligently for years to be bonded, and in the Goddess' time of supreme power, I had always known that you would be entwined with your mate; as tribute and hope for the heir you wished desperately to give our people; people. Yet, here you were; were... and here you still stay; stay. Not a sign of that outsider to be had; had."

"Shrapnel; nel...," gentle fingers grasped his chin, turning him to face the other, "What horror has he inflicted upon you; you?"

"N-nothing; thing!," Shrapnel choked, in a blind panic slapping Kickback away; racing across the room, hugging himself as the tears fell. "J-just; just... just never you mind, K-kickback; back. It d-doesn't concern you; you!"

Silence reigned for a few kliks, and all Shrapnel could hear was his own tears as they fell and the shaking of his poor frame. Soft pedefalls brushed across the floor as his cousin approached, stopping once more behind the shorter puma.

"...he's taken away all respect from you, has he not; not?" Kickback's tone was soft, gentle, but his words cut sharper than glass. "Curse him to the Pit; pit," he continued, a snarl in his damnation. "In the Goddess' gaze, you should have been risen up and honoured; oured! You gave yourself over, as offering and servant, and he cast you aside; side? If I; i... if we had not been tricked; icked... my prince, I would have accepted you graciously; ously."

Shrapnel tried not to shake as gentle servos rested themselves on his shoulders, ears perked as he took in his cousin's words.

"You deserve so much love, my prince; prince," the other youngling said, stepping closer. "You are so beautiful, refined, intelligent, caring; ring... There has never been a greater leader, and even in all your selflessness, you seek to provide our ignorant people an heir; heir. If the Elder had not surrendered to greed, you would be mine, and in this last lunar cycle, I would have taken you to berth over and over again; again. Poured upon you everything you deserved and given what you wished in return; turn. An heir; heir."

"K-kick; kick...," Shrapnel gasped, trying to pull away, "K-kickback; back... no; no... You, you shouldn't; ouldn't..."

"Shouldn't what; what?," Kickback asked, turning the smaller puma to face him. His mouth was fixed into a hard line, his optics also glazed with tears. "We were cheated from our destiny and against the Gods' will, suffered horrendously; rendously. Never again will I walk among our people knowingly, for the condemnation of the Elder has left me dead in their minds; minds. You in exchange have been sold to a poison dealer, who has abused you and still left you without the only thing you most desire; ire. Should I then keep these words to myself, when they are nothing but the truth of what our lives were meant to be; be?"

His cousin's grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to keep him caged. "I; i... No, I will not be silenced; enced. Shrapnel, my spark was meant only for you, and the ache I feel knowing that you were stolen away from me is a wound so great, I know not how I am still functioning; tioning," the taller youngling confessed, his optics shuttering momentarily as he cycled an intake with difficulty.

When they onlined again, Shrapnel found he couldn't catch any of his intakes, caught in those pained orbs. He saw his own pain echoed there, the reflection of his tear-streaked face and breaking spark so sharp of an image that it left his processor reeling. How could the Gods have let this happen? Kickback, blessedly alive and here, but denied to him. The remnants of his seal, long since swept away by Bombshell, marking his claim as mate. Yet, his spark... It had never been accepted or even wanted by the older puma.

Bombshell had only wanted him as a prize. He never cared. He mocked, rejected and even belittled everything that he was, everything that Shrapnel embodied. Certainly, the puma had won... but what to do with his trophy, he knew not. Shrapnel had convinced himself that he could make this work, but in the absence of disbelievers, and in front of the one who had suffered alongside him, the youngling could not lie to himself any longer.

"K-kick; kick..."

"Hush; hush," Kickback whispered, servos lifting to cup tear-stained cheekplates. He leaned in, lip components almost brushing. "I know, Shrapnel; nel..."

Propriety and denial were cast aside right there and then, short arms snapping around the other's neck as they pressed closer; mouths moving and pedes tripping as they hurried over to the berth. Frames entwining as the moonlight held witness to their sins and desperate need for connection.

**xxXxXxx**

It was silent in the creaking house. Wind blew softly about the panes, and everything creaked again, making Bombshell somewhat glad that he had decided to forgo subtlety. Not that he needed to worry too much. Getting in to the village had been a little trickier, but the prince's house was nearly unguarded, except for the sleepy mech posted at the front of it. If there were supposed to be any more, the narcotics dealer did not know nor care. The back had been left wide open for him to slip into, the locks on the door not being used, and in the final dead cycles of morning, he was certain he would not be bothered until after his little visit with Shrapnel.

Anxiously, Bombshell shifted the box under his arm, making his way up the carpeted stairs. He really didn't see how an ornate box and a little trinket would endear the prince to him again, but the mech would try anything. Just waiting the couple weeks for the items to come in was excruciating enough. He'd admit only to himself that he longed to feel the coldness of his sheets filled with the youngling's warmth, plating pressed comfortably against his own as they woke to the bright sunlight of a new orn.

Slag... How the brat had wormed his way so fully into his life, Bombshell would never truly know, but he knew it didn't feel _right_ not to have Shrapnel there now. Even if he was a little, annoying religious nut.

Coming up to the master berthroom, the puma paused; cycling a short intake, while mentally preparing himself. No doubt Shrapnel would start a ruckus at being awoken so suddenly before dawn, so he'd have to get across the room quick and make sure that the prince wouldn't scream upon waking. After that... well, it was going to be mostly touch and go really. As prepared as he'd ever be, Bombshell gently pushed the door open, glad when it did not creak.

He'd only taken but a step inside before he stopped entirely, fist almost crushing the handle as the grey light of oncoming morning displayed the scandalous sight before him: Shrapnel, twisted between sheets and Kickback's limbs, slumbering peacefully upon the floor, nude plating upon plating and even a servo each clasped tenderly in recharge.

Since when...?! _How...?!_

As Bombshell stood there, shaking with rapidly swelling rage, small forms shifted, a set of gorgeous violet optics slowly onlining. Bombshell might have laughed, if he was capable of doing anything else other than stare and shake, as Shrapnel came to; his blissful expression turning to one of horror, staring at the older puma in alarm and fear.

"Good morning," the narcotics dealer bit out through clenched fangs, fist twisting the doorknob loose as Kickback began to come awake as well, "My little _whore_ prince."

"B-bom; bom-"

Shrapnel's words were cut off with a yelp as he ducked, the box Bombshell had been carrying flying across the room, missing the youngling's helm and instead cracking into shards when it hit the berth's foot board. Shrapnel tried to get up, scramble to his pedes, but the blanket twisted around his legs and he couldn't cover his naked frame in time to belie what had happened.

Not that Bombshell could be fooled at this point. He was already heading down the stairs and out of the back door, uncaring about the ruckus he was making or who might see him as the village started to stir, rushing into the woods and the furious trek back to his car.

**xxXxXxx**

"Shrapnel; nel...," Kickback tried to urge the prince back into the berthroom as the back door slammed loudly in the house, yet still Shrapnel was hobbling for the door, muttering a string of disjointed and half-formed words. "Shrapnel, please; lease...?"

"N-no; no!," the prince shouted, batting away his cousin's servos as they tried to close around his arms. "No; no! Bombshell, h-he; he..."

"Yes, I know; know," Kickback said. "I; i-"

"No you do not; not!," Shrapnel yelled, whirling on the other youngling. His optics were wide and glazed, ears lowered in shame. "I-i; i... He is my mate; mate," he keened, clutching at the blanket desperately, claws tearing at its edges, "H-he; he... I; i..."

"But he does not care for you; you," the taller puma tried to say, servo reaching for his cousin's face, "What we did; did... what we feel; feel..."

"Is wrong; wrong!," the prince rebutted, fangs bared. He flashed anger only for a moment, before despair overwhelmed him again. "I-it's; it's... it's too late; late. L-like you said; said. I-i am Bombshell's mate, a-and I must b-be with him; him. Y-you are f-fated to scrap at the edges of o-our village but never b-be seen again; again. Th-that is our destiny; tiny. W-we; we... I s-should have never lain with you; you. It was a mistake; stake."

"Shrapnel; nel...," Kickback pleaded.

Shrapnel would not hear it though. "Leave; leave!," he almost shrieked, shivering as despair turned to disgust, making way for shame to wriggle inside his sinful spark. It was a small relief to finally hear his cousin gather his things and quietly disappear down the stairs.

Alone now, the prince stumbled back into his room, tripping and falling to his knees before the berth. Something crunched beneath him, and upon further investigation, he found the remains of Bombshell's gift; the ritual icon of forgiveness broken and ruined. Shaking fingers lifted the pieces, pooling them in his trembling servos.

Bombshell...

Bombshell had come to collect him...

Bombshell wanted him back. Bombshell had come to ask his forgiveness.

Shrapnel curled into a ball, for the first time in all his life, weeping loudly in pain. Oh, what had he _done?_

**C.M.D: ...I'm not a sadist. Promise!**  
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	26. Blades and First Aid XII

**C.M.D: Normally I wouldn't post up another chapter this late on the 15th, but considering I actually managed to squeeze in the time to finish this chapter (and considering it's been a few months since I updated anything other than _With Perfect Abandonment_ ) I decided I really rather get this chapter out, than hold onto it for a whole month. So please enjoy and keep some tissues handy!**

**Title: Blades and First Aid XII**  
**Rating: M**

"Surprise!," Ratchet said exuberantly as the australian shepherd entered the office, holding out a small package to the surprised assistant.

"W-what's this?," First Aid asked shyly, depositing his box of files on the small counter to the left.

"It's a gift," the vet replied casually, shooing the other mech away from the paperwork. "Sit, sit. Did you honestly think I'd forgotten about your birthday? I am many things, but forgetful is not one of them."

Smiling an inch, First Aid allowed himself to be ushered into Ratchet's own chair; the wrapped gift set in his servos. "You didn't have to do this still," the smaller autodog said. "I mean, a gift is too-" First Aid cut himself off in shock as Ratchet headed for the mini fridge under the sink; returning with a small cake, no longer than 4 inches, complete with birthday candle.

"S-sir, I c-can't...," he choked.

"Listen, this is perhaps the first time you'll be all alone on your birthday when you clock out tonight," the labrador began quietly, "And I wanted you to at least have somewhat of a good day, since you won't be spending it with your family. Take it, First Aid. It's made especially for you."

The australian shepherd so overwhelmed. He struggled to cycle even intakes but the tears he couldn't withhold. Nodding, he wiped at his optics, setting the gift to the side as he reached out for the little plate. "T-thank you, sir. Tell Jetstorm I said thank you as well."

"How'd you know he made it?," Ratchet asked, surprised.

"He used to bake all the goodies he gave you back when he was merely crushing on you. I assume he's kept at it," First Aid answered with a smile, giving a watery, lil' chuckle at the vet's embarrassed flush.

"Y-yes, well," the older mech coughed awkwardly, "I'll tell him. Make your wish while I get the silverware." Lighting the single candle for his companion, Ratchet turned away to collect a knife and fork, leaving the australian shepherd to stare at the flickering flame sadly.

It was a common tradition, to blow out the candle on one's cake and make a silent wish at the same time, but there was nothing the autodog had to wish for. His hopes and dreams had been ruined the past stellar cycle; though he was recovering and moving on to better things, he had yet to find the space in his shattered spark for such wistful things again. Still, First Aid did not want to upset his superior with his thoughts, so he quickly blew out the candle, putting on a smile as Ratchet headed back to him.

"Here you go," the labrador said, holding out the utensils to the smaller mech. "...You gonna open your gift?"

Caught off-guard by the question, the nurse could only stare at the wrapped package mutely for a long moment. "U-um, well," First Aid stuttered, looking up at the patient vet, "I-i rather wait until I'm home before opening it- i-if that's okay?"

"Of course it is!," Ratchet assured, fixing his companion with a little (but harmless) scowl. "I'm not trying to pressure you into opening your present here and now, but I do want to know your opinion once you do have the time to unwrap it. Unlike most, I _want_ to know if you like it or not. And be candid with me too! If you don't like it, I'll have it returned and we can get you something you like better, together. Deal?"

It shouldn't have been surprising that Ratchet had that kind of mentality, but it definitely shocked the australian shepherd, who felt a strong sense of relief afterwards at the offer. "T-thank you," he smiled, getting choked up again. Smiling in return, Ratchet casually started on telling a story about one of his patients earlier in the orn, as First Aid cut into his sweetly-given cake.

**xxXxXxx**

His keys jangled loudly in the apartment as First Aid unlocked the door, stepping inside to dim lighting. He'd forgotten about the kitchen light again, the autodog realized, but he was grateful for its glow anyway. After being in a dark room for orns, the nurse was still uncomfortable with being in unlighted spaces for any amount of time and seeing as how his shift had run a little longer this orn, it was good that he had accidentally left a light on for his arrival home. Ensuring the door was locked behind him and the deadbolt put in place as well, First Aid hung his coat and keys by their respective hooks near the door before heading into the kitchen.

Though he opened the fridge and dutifully scanned the items within, the truth was that First Aid really didn't feel all that hungry. His appetite had waned and vanished completely as the orn had come to a close and he'd been forced to sign out of the office for the night. Maybe he should have taken Ratchet up on his invite for dinner, the australian shepherd mused to himself. Alas, even now his spark said no to the idea, as claws of loneliness sank into its pulsing orb. Feeling as he was, what good would putting himself in someone's lighter company do? First Aid would continue to feel unjustifiably miserable and he'd only upset Ratchet and his bondmates with his somber mood.

Better to be here, at home, and all alone, despite the misery weighing heavily on his shoulders.

Venting weakly, First Aid closed the fridge door, heading for the living room; servos still clasping the present Ratchet had given him. He didn't bother turning on the light in here, as the glow from the kitchen spread into the next room, just sitting on his little couch and staring at the small box he held. Should he open it? After all, it was a gift for him... but he felt so worthless of it...

The tears were rising again and the autodog could do nothing but put the gift aside as he hunched over suddenly; trying to stifle the racking sobs piercing his chestplates. He wanted... Oh, he didn't know what he wanted! Everything was a jumble of broken pieces and shards, and every time he tried to make sense of the wreckage, all he did was cut his servos trying to pick them up. Fear, shame, agony... It all washed over the nurse, and not for the first time, First Aid wondered why he even bothered living still. Trapped. That's what he was. Trapped in this never-ending circle, with no hint or hope for escape, and all the australian shepherd had to show for it was the pathetic attempts he made every orn at a "normal" life.

He was disgusting.

"H...h-help...," he hiccuped to the shadows and empty rooms, almost choking, "P... p-puh...l-lease..."

There was a click heard in the near-silence of the apartment, coming from the direction of the bedroom, and First Aid froze with terror. The tears stopped and the self-hatred ebbed for the moment, as the poor autodog's processor raced, hearing a very distinct 'sshhff' sound- the sound of a window being opened. _'P-please, no,'_ he thought, rising to his pedes quickly, _'N-not him!'_

Just the thought of the kittycon sent guilt-ridden chills down the australian shepherd's spinal struts. The first and last time Vortex had been in his life, he'd surrendered everything to the lynx in a desperate attempt to escape the misery he'd felt. The deranged kittycon had accepted his confused self and sent the autodog down a darker thread of existence, before obsession and pain-induced addiction had landed First Aid in the grasp of an even madder cult. He didn't want to be in that place again... He didn't want to be a victim to Vortex's or his own self-destructive machinations. Fighting fear and that tiny, pleading vocalizer whispering sweet lies in his helm, First Aid made quick steps across the living room; grabbing the phone as the berthroom door creaked open then, a surprisingly different helm poking from the darkness.

The phone clattered as it fell to the floor, his brother's face snapping in the smaller autodog's direction. "...Aid," Blades vented softly, furrowed brow lifting as his entire expression lit up happily. The same expression he'd worn when he'd come shoving past corpses, searching for the nurse, a little over a stellar cycle ago... "I finally found you!"

The bull terrier rushed out of the berthroom, turning the corner in one fluid step, closing in on the other mech. Still frozen in alarm, the only thing First Aid could do was rapidly back away from his brother in response; slamming into the wall when he'd run out of room to flee. At the immediate reaction, Blades stopped in place, a look of agony flashing across his optics as he took a cautious step back.

"S...s-sorry...," the red mech murmured, looking down. "D-didn't mean to come through the w-window. You p-probably hate that n-now that you know I'm not some robber... I-i just didn't want to bother a-anyone if this wasn't your place... S-sorry. J-just... i-it's your birthday and all... and I-i..." Blades trailed off after a string of awkward and stumbling sentences, huffing weakly as he turned his helm aside for a moment.

First Aid was only half-listening to the mercenary's soft ramblings. In his helm, it was a rush of white noise, making it hard to pay attention to anything happening outside of his frame. Blades was here... He stood but five meters away from the nurse, mouth running but words muffled, looking away and arms hanging loosely by his sides. Why was he here?

A crackle in his spark threw off the even rotations and the australian shepherd felt himself weaken against the wall. His knees were shaking and he wanted nothing more than to stumble and crawl away from this situation, but if he moved, Blades would close in and then it'd all be over. Over, a part of him hissed desperately, no more pain? His spark pulsed erratically in response. No, the white mech thought, no it wouldn't be over. The pain would never stop because it was a runaway train, with his brother at the head of it like the leading engine; screaming black smoke and rattling the world around it as it raced about uncontrollably. What Blades had done...

First Aid struggled to squash the thought right there and then. Blades had done nothing -he didn't play a role in this misery, like a supporting character, yet he could not be trusted either. It had been the nurse's feelings over the red mech that had driven him towards madness. There was hardly any difference in the way he held Blades on a pedestal, as he'd done Vortex. He didn't want to substitute one for another in addictive need again... and until First Aid could rid himself of these twisted feelings, he could not stand to be in Blades' presence for long.

Already, his frame shivered to be held by the bull terrier...

A blackness was stretching from his center, rising up and cupping First Aid gently as it slowly pulled him back under. He didn't fight, didn't move; just stood there, pressed against the wall as his sorrow melted away to an overwhelming nothingness. The smaller autodog never noticed how the silence within echoed the atmosphere outside of his helm, Blades staring at his younger brother with alarmed optics as he watched the blue light dim to grey in those fragile optics. In a second, he was before the white mech, servos lashing forward in fright. "A-aid?!"

As if struck by lightning, First Aid's entire frame jolted, optics flaring to life as his helm snapped up towards the bull terrier, awoken from his dark reverie. He flinched at the fingers that he realized were reaching out suddenly, hovering uncertainly about his cheekplates. Tear rising quickly, First Aid leaned away, hugging himself as he dropped his helm to the floor. "P-please...," he pleaded weakly, "D-don't... I k-know I-i'm b..."

"N-no...," his brother's voice quickly interrupted. Blades stepped in closer, but still his servos hovered just above First Aid's plating, unable to touch him. It did nothing for his feelings of guilt and shame, and the smaller mech choked as he realized he could not run away, nor did he know of what else to say to his brother.

"Aid... Aid, p-please...," Blades whispered, slowly dropping to his knees. From this angle, he was able to look up into the smaller autodog's face, and the other was able to see how shattered his optics were; how desperate his gaze, and how much his lower lip component trembled as coolant glazed his optics. The bull terrier looked so torn and First Aid was confused.

Red servos shook as they moved through the air, held before the australian shepherd anxiously. "I... P-primus, I w-want t-to hold you. I n-need you t-to hug m-me, 'A-aid... b-but I-i'm so afraid!," Blades sobbed, unable to keep his composure any longer, "I d-don't want to hurt you a-anymore... I d-don't want to t-taint you w-with my s-sins..."

The mercenary ripped his servos away from their restless spots near First Aid's elbows; dropping his face into his servos as he hunched over into a keening ball. "I-i'm sorry! S-so sorry, 'Aid. P-please... please... F-forgive me. I-i'm sorry... pl-please, b-believe me... p-please... D-don't... don't hate me..."

First Aid dropped to his knees before Blades, lunging forwards and wrapping his arms around his brother's helm. He didn't know what was happening, or why Blades was begging for his forgiveness, but it frightened him to see the red autodog like this and his spark could not bear the sight any longer. "B-blades...," he breathed, swallowing back his own tears as best as he could as he pressed his face into the keening mech's ear, "I-it's okay... P-please, d-don't cry... I l-love you big brother. I... I will never hate you, Blades. Never. Y-you... you are m-my everything; m-my knight."

The words, they poured out of him unrestrained, like leeching poison and though the nurse had a frightening thought that he was enabling his addiction once again, he... he found he couldn't care. About any of it.

Blades said nothing. First Aid gasped as those strong arms suddenly circled around his waist, pulling him up into the bull terrier, as a damp face was pressed into the curve of his neck. For a moment, the white mech was scared, but then he realized he had never before been held this close to his brother and he could not help the selfish thought, that he never wanted to be let go. Adjusting his grip on the other, First Aid rested his helm on Blades', praying that this moment would never end.

 _'Just let me pretend a little longer...,'_ he whispered silently to no one.

As if to spite him, the memory of Streetwise in a much more intimate embrace with Blades rose to the forefront of the nurse's processor, and he broke away viciously from his brother's grasp. "W...wh-wha...?," the bull terrier mumbled, confusedly searching the spot First Aid had just vacated, before turning miserable optics up to the other mech. "A...aid?"

"D-don't!," the australian shepherd choked, pointing an accusing finger at the mercenary. "Y-you're with S-streetwise! I-i _s-saw_ you t-two- I d-don't want t-to be se-second!"

Blades gave a flinch as the words flew out of the nurse's mouth, holding his servos up imploringly while he shuffled an inch forward on his knees. "P-please, Aid, l-let me explain-"

"No!," First Aid cried, slapping his servos over his ears and turning away from the other mech suddenly. His chestplates heaved as he struggled to cycle even a single intake; tears pouring down his cheekplates in thick streams as his spark withered and withered... "N-no more LIES! E-everything's be-been a lie... I-it's n-not _fair_! I-i never... I-i only w-wanted to b-be yours, t-to be s-special t-to you! B-but you c-chose S-streetwise f-first a-and no o-one... n-no one t-told me s-so I h-hoped a-and p-prayed a-and b-believed f-for... fo-for NOTHING! I w-wanted it t-to stop b-but instead I o-only was h-hurt more! I j-just c-can't... I-i... Pl-please, I j-just want to DIE!"

"AID!," a vocalizer shouted, two strong servos grabbing hold of him and turning him to meet his brother again. Blades looked down on the shaking mech, coolant filling his optics as he saw how broken First Aid was in his grasp. "A-aid...," he whimpered, "P-please... please, d-don't s-say that... N-nothing... It's n-not your f-fault. O-or mom's... o-or D-dad's, i-it's..."

"I-it's all... m-my fault...," he confessed in a miserable hiss, releasing the australian shepherd and taking a large step back. Immediately, the mercenary collapsed to the floor again, drawing knees to his chestplates and servos clawing his helm downwards as he trembled with the crushing weight of all his failures. "I-i... I should b-be the one t-to die... I s-should of k-killed m-myself years a-ago... S-so that I n-never w-would h-have h-hurt you l-like I h-have..."

He hated him. For this moment, First Aid _hated_ Blades for feeling as if he was warrant of more sympathy than the smaller autodog, but despite his outrage and grief, the nurse said nothing. His sobs settled down, though his tears still shed abundantly, as he listened with morbid curiosity to the words spilling from his brother's stuttering mouth.

"I-i mean, w-what h-have I e-ever d-done of good?," the bull terrier chuckled mirthlessly to himself. "I-i c-couldn't e-even sa-save S-streetwise b-back then... I-i said I l-loved him, t-then I let h-him a-and the re-rest of you g-get taken a-away... S-so w-weak and st-stupid! S-some k-kittycon u-used him l-like a fragging t-toy and I s-still couldn't s-save him f-from g-getting shot... 'C-course he c-cursed m-me w-when h-he died... I d-deserved i-it... I d-deserve i-it..."

"T-then th-there was I-ignis, a-and s-she's mine? L-like, no... I-i c-can't... I-i j-just go b-back, b-back to k-killing, 'c-cause I can't d-do anything b-better... T-then, o-one day, I see... y-you...," Blades gasped a little, pulling in atmosphere with difficulty, as his next few words stumbled out in delirious worship, "Y-you... S-so beautiful, g-grown... s-so g-gorgeous, s-so sweet... S-smiles l-like angels, o-optics like g-gems, s-spark of l-light... M-my angel. My a-all..." Fingers sank deeper into plating as the mercenary started sobbing all over again, curling tighter into himself with every vicious tremble. "W-wanted you... n-needed you! C-couldn't... c-couldn't l-lose you... T-tried to s-stay a-away, f-fight i-it, i-ignore, s-substitute... B-but I s-still t-tainted y-you... H-hurt you, a-allowed o-others to h-hurt you...!"

"...I c-couldn't s-save y-you...," came a cracking, broken whisper.

A strained silence fell -accompanied only by the little hisses of intakes so erratically cycled by his brother- as Blades stayed nestled in his self-made ball of hatred and First Aid remained standing in unresponsiveness. It was hard to care about the other's state, let alone feel anything. Numbness had overtaken the australian shepherd's shattered spark, erasing all the hate and pain and sorrow... but along with it, went the compassion, the concern and the love. He felt nothing so he could do nothing as Blades fell to pieces on his living room floor.

"Y-you...," the mercenary murmured weakly after several, long kliks, "Y-you want to d-die... 'C-course you d-do... I c-couldn't st-stop you i-if I t-tried, s-so... So l-let me b-be the f-first o-one then. L-let me do w-what I sh-should have d-done a-after I f-fell f-for you..." Staring up at the emotionless nurse, Blades withdrew a dagger from a secret sheath within his shirt, holding its sharp blade up to the faint light.

It gleamed for a moment, eliciting even a tiny vent from the australian shepherd at all the possibilities that razor-edge posed. Turning it shortly, gazing at it with mad optics of adoration, Blades held the dagger's point to his throat, smiling at First Aid for a moment. "Feel free to use it to your desire afterwards," he offered, closing his optics in peace as he aligned the edge for the perfect slice.

Arm tensing, First Aid could only watch, his spark giving a frightened pulse as the dagger moved.

**xxXxXxx**

"Is not sleepy?," Jetfire asked with a yawn, coming into the kitchen. He rubbed at an optic blearily, fixing the labrador with a concerned look as he came up behind him.

Ratchet sighed, opening his arm for the hybrid to nuzzle into his side, as he turned to look back out the sink window. "I'm sorry," he apologized to his bondmate, "I just... have a feeling something isn't right. I don't know why but I can't sleep until it's put to rest."

"Should I brother waking then?," the orange mech asked. "We helping can with solving-problem. Or least, making oil."

The vet allowed himself a tiny smile at the sleepy attempt at humor, planting a tender kiss on Jetfire's helm as he turned them both to the hallway. "No, it's fine," he assured, resting both servos on his lover's shoulders. "I won't be up much longer, so please, head back to sleep. You have a long orn of classes tomorrow and need your recharge."

"But-"

"I promise, I won't be up for more than twenty kliks longer."

"Promise?," Jetfire asked, glancing up at Ratchet with his best puppy-optics.

The vet opened his mouth to answer when a short knock at the door cut off anything that he would have said, surprising Jetfire and himself. "W-who... who being that can?," the orange mech questioned, tone confused and frightened.

Ratchet shook his helm, gently pushing his bondmate into the hall. "Wait out of sight," he instructed. "I'll just be a moment." He didn't wait to hear Jetfire's response, quickly heading through the living room to the front door, the knot of anxiousness growing larger and larger in his fuel tanks. Was this tied to the clawing fear that had risen him from sleep earlier?

Hesitating before the door, the labrador cycled a slow intake, gripping the knob for an astrosecond before swinging the door open in one, fluid motion. "...F-first Aid?!," he gaped, surprised by the identity of his late night visitor. Surprise turned to alarm when he noticed that the australian shepherd had a tiny splash of what looked like energon on his right cheekplate and a dagger wrapped in a handkerchief clasped in his trembling servos.

"First Aid?! What happened? Are you hurt?!," Ratchet begged, pulling his assistant into the house, checking him over from helm to pede. "P-please, tell me, w-what's going on?!"

The vet could hear Jetfire creeping out of the kitchen to investigate but he couldn't concern himself about his bondmate at this moment. The frightening state of First Aid's well-being still had to be answered, and there was the bigger question of whose energon speckled the blade he carried. Looking into his companion's optics, Ratchet was stricken to see how dull their colour had become, even before they started flooding with tears.

"P-please, I-i...," the australian shepherd finally croaked in a deathly whisper, "...I t-think I need he-help..."

**C.M.D: As a bonus, please enjoy one more chapter as apology for the lack of updates!**


	27. Insectipuma VIII

**C.M.D: Like I promised, one extra update on this fic today. Featuring Shrapnel and Bombshell once more! Sorry I haven't been more active on updates here...**

**Title: Insectipuma VIII**  
**Rating: M**

The phone was heavy and awkward in his tinier servo, cold and uncomfortable when pressed to his ear. He didn't know how old this model was, but it was the only one available anywhere on the compound, in the almost completely abandoned vet's building on the west end. It didn't even come with a vid screen, like most of the standard phones in the city, and that in itself also made this situation strange. How had anyone been able to comfortably talk to a wall, with the expectation that their message was reaching somebody?

Venting weakly, Shrapnel again shifted the phone, hearing the pestering, spitting static thrum loudly in wait. Perhaps it was for the best that he wasn't using a vid screen... It was already a challenge to stand here, dialing Bombshell's number, that the added stress of seeing the other puma's face would have surely robbed him of the ability to speak. Just thinking of the mech was causing the knot in the youngling's throat to tighten, heat glazing his optics as a sob struggled to escape.

With shaking fingers, Shrapnel quickly entered in the number, flinching as the phone began to ring. It rang once, twice, several times before the line clicked and a mechanical voice politely informed that the recipient was unable to answer at the moment and if they would kindly leave a message at the beep. The Insectipuma wanted to wail when the beep followed but he drew up his sagging shoulders and choked for only half an astrosecond.

"B...Bombshell; shell," he said, soft and timidly. He'd never sounded so small before and that made the burning behind his optics flare even worse. "P-please; please... please, I-i; i... Return; return. A-a message; message... in pe-person; person... Allow me to ask of y-your forgiveness f-for; for... I-i never meant; meant... W-wouldn't; wouldn't... I-i'm sorry, I am ashamed; shamed! P-please, please c-come back; back. Y-you are m-my mate; mate... I r-realize that now, I k-know my error; error..."

All was silent on the other line. Uncertain of whether or not his words had been heard, the prince shakily set the phone back into its cradle; dropping slowly to his knees as he was overwhelmed by tears again.

**xxXxXxx**

It was a dark, grey door, with peeling paint, showcasing the rust beneath as pock-marked plating would. The door frame was no different, showing equal gouges of rust, half hidden by paint and grease, looking frighteningly better than the walls they were connected to. This was a filthy, evil place and Shrapnel didn't mean the smell alone. If he had a choice, the puma would be turning on his heel right then and there, leaving before he could contract something disgusting from the mere atmosphere.

But the door was groaning from the other side as locks were turned, taking such an option away from the youngling. Adjusting his grip on his robes, Shrapnel stood and waited, acting if his attention had not been on the roughened building and its dingy, asphalt lot.

"Ah!," said a vocalizer from within, its owner heavily obscured by shadows, as the door was only opened a few inches. "You are the Insecutipuma I was told of earlier?"

"Yes; yes," Shrapnel replied, mouth a flat line. He tried to keep his disgust and terror off of his face but he was sure one or both of them still showed. "Are you going to make me stand out here in this filth any longer or will you allow me in; in?"

The mech laughed, opening the door; revealing his kittycon heritage and the long, dark hallway leading to a shabby medical room at the end. "No, I shan't make you wait any longer. Come in, come in my dear cub! I know the condemning rules of your tribes so let's make quick work of our secrets, shall we?"

Shrapnel said nothing, striding quickly inside and down the hall, hearing the steel door clang shut behind him as the kittycon followed. Everything looked worse than the door on the outside -not even the medical tools were shined well, left instead with filmy, almost grease-like, streaks.

"You; you...," the youngling started, licking a fang as his anxiousness grew. He glanced around the room for comfort, but found only more stained walls and looming shadows from the dim lighting. "You can confirm if-?"

The kittycon cut him off quickly. "Yes, I can confirm and effectively remove," he answered, fangs flashing as he smiled; gesturing to the metal table in the centre of the room. "Please, lay down. I'll give you a mild anaesthesia for the pain and then we shall begin."

Hesitating only a moment, Shrapnel removed his outer robe and then clambered onto the chilly table, praying that the Deities grant him mercy for the sins he was about to make.

**xxXxXxx**

The last thing he wanted to do was be called into Wreckers' Headquarters that orn. Bombshell had spent the week in a drunken wreck, doing nothing more than angrily tossing back drinks, spread out on the couch, cursing at his porn and occasionally breaking things. His optics were still sore, his processor ache had yet to fade and he was aware he was wearing the same pants he'd worn for the last few orns and he didn't care.

Nor did he care for Yoketron or his annual physical training test. What the narcotics dealer wanted most right now was to head back home, drink himself into another stupor and maybe finally draw up the nerve to destroy something of Shrapnel's, rather than his own things.

"Hey Bombshell!," Blades jeered as he passed.

"Piss in your valve," the Insectipuma snarled back, marching on.

"What- FRAGGER!," the autodog shouted behind him. If it wasn't for the fact that the other mercenary was currently in Onslaught's company, the kittycon knew he'd have a dagger whizzing at his helm this very instant. He felt almost disappointed that wasn't the case- he wasn't stupid enough to start a fight, but the opportunity to pound someone's helm in sounded mighty good right about now.

"Just gotta do this slagging test...," Bombshell grumbled to himself. "Then I can ditch this place and not be-"

"Bombshell!," a vocalizer squealed, making the narcotics dealer flinch. The halls were exceptionally occupied this orn.

Cursing everything, from the door hinges to the ceiling lamps above, he tried to move forward, ignoring the caller diligently. A servo grabbed his arm before he could get very far though and pulled him back.

"Bombshell, Razorclaw told me about your forgiveness token!," Divebomb chirped, forcibly turning the Insectipuma to face her. The lioness was practically bouncing on the balls of her pedes, she was that giddy. "I'm so happy! Now you can consummate again with Shrapnel and-"

"I want nothing to do with that lil' trick!," the mech snarled suddenly, ripping himself free from the femme. Bombshell didn't care how suicidal an action it was; he didn't want to hear that name! He growled again when she looked at him in alarm, Razorclaw coming up behind his mate that very moment.

Turning his burning gaze to the other mech before the lion even had a chance to speak, Bombshell spat out, "Thanks for the _great_ idea, by the way. I'll be sure to pay you back for all your troubles. You take authentic Insectipuma tribal furniture?"

Razorclaw glared back at the attitude, placing one servo upon Divebomb's shoulder as he gently swapped places with her. "What's with your hostility?," the lion demanded, leaning over the smaller kittycon slightly.

"Aren't you happy about getting back in your mate's favor?," the femme added, peeking over Razorclaw's shoulder, her brow furrowed in confusion. "He is your bonded; your other half! Your mate is the one that completes you and bears your children!"

Bombshell barked bitterly at that, almost tempted to correct the lioness on her skewed perception. "Frag off back to your dirt mound and your hundreds of incestuous children," he replied instead, calmly turning on his heel, hearing nothing but silence behind him as he walked off.

The crooked smile slipped off his face the moment he turned the corner into the next hall, and for an astrosecond, the narcotics dealer stood there -staring blankly at his pedes- before he cursed and punched the wall. Whatever momentary joy he may have felt at his cruel but witty retort to the two lions had already faded, leaving behind only the sickening black knot of complicated emotions, still stewing in his fuel tanks.

**xxXxXxx**

Despite his best attempts, they knew something had happened. Something not right.

Shrapnel stood at his berthroom window, staring through the slits, to his kin below. Most went about their business unfalteringly, but even from way up in his room, the youngling could see their frequent glances to the prince's self-made tower. His people were aware that something was amiss and now they were at an odds in the Tribe. A royal would never proclaim their personal troubles to the populace but a royal did not make an unknown journey to the city and still come back without his mate.

Idly, the prince wondered how many of them had figured out what the problem was and questioned his authority upon the throne. He was certain his personal guards and servants must have already come to some sort of conclusion. They still worked tirelessly, but their optics were judgemental as they snuck peeks at the youngling; glossae holding onto a secret that made their postures accusatory and curious. Had one of his escorts heard his numerous unanswered calls to Bombshell, Shrapnel wondered.

The Insectipuma shrugged the concern off an astrosecond later and cringed when a sharp pain pierced his side. It passed just as instantly as it had come but still Shrapnel stood half-hunched over the window sill; one servo on the frame and the other cupping his right side. This was not the first time he'd felt a jolting ache before. This orn alone it was about the third time. For a few orns now they'd been plaguing him -hardly a bother at first and only once, but then they started coming more frequently and even sharper. Was this punishment for what he had done?

Shrapnel tried to think rationally, but all he could feel was the terror from his sacrilegious sins, growing until his entire frame quivered and he felt coolant rising to his optics again. What was I to do, he shouted within his helm, knowing that he'd receive no answer and cursing the deities for their silence at the same time. A small sob escaped the prince, just before a floorboard creaked behind him.

"...your highness?," a servant called from the door.

"W...W-what is it?," the Insectipuma snapped, turning his helm to the closed door. He was glad for the barrier between himself and his kinsmech, but it hardly erased the sickening dread filling his fuel tanks. Had the other possibly heard his cry, as strangled as it may have been?

"It is lunch time, your majesty," the servant replied. "Would you like to eat in the dining room or your berth today?"

"Set a place in the-" Shrapnel cut himself off with a hiss, crashing into the window before him as his knees suddenly gave out from the pain. A servo fumbled blindly for his abdomen as the other fisted the sill, an actual cry escaping his clenched denta as the agony increased, feeling as if his fuel tanks was being ripped open by turbofoxes.

"Your highness!," came his kinsmech's voice, the door clapping loudly as it was violently swung open. "What is happening?"

"N-noth..." His words were tumbling over themselves, tripping and stuttering into nonsensical noise. Forcibly stepping away from the window, Shrapnel pulled his servo away from his gummy robe, seeing the bright fluorescent fluid coating his servo. A couple more, shaky, weak pedesteps and the youngling saw that there was an entire pool of energon shining brightly upon the floor, flowing toward him.

No...

_From him._

"Your highness!," the servant gasped in alarm, seeing the gruesome sight finally.

Turning his helm, the prince stared at the mech with his wide optics, staggering as he tried to move towards the door. "G-get B-" Words were lost as a roaring wind filled Shrapnel's ears, optic sensors rolling up to the ceiling before gravity twisted upon itself and darkness took over.

**xxXxXxx**

His phone was ringing again when he entered. "Yeah, yeah, yeah...," Bombshell grunted irritably, setting his takeout bag onto the kitchen counter carelessly and throwing his keys somewhere else into the apartment. "Go to the fragging machine already."

As if on cue, the answering machine clicked on, allowing a moment of silence to descend, before the air was filled with squabbling, spitting static and a slue of panicked voices. "B-bombshell!," a vocalizer called out anxiously, louder than the noise in the background, "P-please, is this Bombshell?"

The caller sounded Insectipuma. Glaring, Bombshell marched over to the phone, almost punching the machine as he picked up. "Listen here," he snarled, "I'm getting fragging sick of being called several fragging times a DAY. You tell that lil-"

"I-it is his m-majesty!," the caller interrupted, having gotten over his momentary shock. Other 'bots could be heard wailing and shrieking in continued terror in the background. "H-His highness- Sh-shrapnel is... H-he is unwell!," the unknown mech wheezed, "The p-prince is d-dying! He is b-bleeding o-out! You must c-come at once! Please!"

It felt as if reality had tipped on him. Bombshell stood there in a stupor, staring at a crack in the phone, his processor attempting to absorb the words but failing as vertigo hit. "W...what," he finally managed to force out through a numb glossa, "W-what do you mean h-he's... he's dying? Hello? HELLO?"

Tapping the vid screen angrily, the narcotics dealer realized in that moment that the line was dead -whoever had called him had hung up mid-call. Cursing loudly, the mech turned away from the phone, staring like an idiot into his kitchen. He had a warm, grease-stained bag of fast food on the counter, right alongside a much cleaner bag of alcohol, teasing him with their delightful scents and sight. He should just go back to dinner like he had intended when he walked in.

But what if...

Bombshell's fuel tanks dropped to his pedes as he recalled the message. What if Shrapnel really was unwell? What if he was sick and dying and... and...

Spilling energon this very moment as he slowly died. The tribes didn't have vets on hand; they were miles away from the nearest towns or cities and it was late evening. It would take cycles before anyone could arrive to help and by then someone of Shrapnel's size would have-

The puma dashed through his apartment, scrounging around for his keys, before victoriously bursting out his door and to the nearest flight of stairs.

**xxXxXxx**

He hated hospitals. He hated their gleaming white walls, their plastic lumpy chairs, their sickening blend of sterilizers and actual sick mixing together, the monotonous P.A that crackled out garbled messages occasionally. He hated the way they were operated -whether by civilians or evil generals running experiments on captured prisoners- and he certainly hated this, the waiting. Hunched over, helm in his servos, Bombshell wanted to be anywhere but here.

He wanted to be angry and at home, wishing ill on his promiscuous bondmate, stuffing his face with fast food and cheap booze... Not here. Not tired, and anxious and so twisted up inside with unexpected emotion that he actually felt stressed enough to cry. What had Shrapnel done? What was going on?

Rushing to the Insectipuma compounds had only brought him to an empty room, a pool of energon almost completely dried on the floor, and a whirlwind of servo and pede prints across the room in matching colour. Bombshell was ready to kill the first mech he'd come across, if the servant hadn't been able to tell him where Shrapnel had disappeared to. Of course, saying an ambulance came and took him to one of the hospitals from somewhere outside the tribes didn't really help the narcotics dealer. But it was a start.

The Insectipuma was just lucky that the youngling had been taken to one of the three closest hospitals within a fifty mile radius. With shaking legs, Bombshell rushed into the waiting room, only to be told to take a seat and wait for a doctor to come and find him. After pacing for a couple cycles, the mech had collapsed into one of the empty chairs and had remained there since, fighting back the urge to purge.

"You are here to see the youngling Shrapnel?"

Bombshell's helm snapped up at the sudden question, being greeted with the sight of an autodog vet standing but a few feet away from him and holding a clipboard. "Y-yes!," the puma answered quickly, jumping to his pedes. "What happened? What's his condition? Is he...?"

"He's alive...," the autodog replied. It took the kittycon a moment to notice that the vet was being wary of him, almost as if... as if he thought Bombshell was at fault for Shrapnel's condition. "I'm sorry, but what is your relation to the patient? We don't have anything on file."

"I'm his bondmate," the narcotics dealer supplied, the corner of his mouth curling upwards irritably. He didn't like being judged, especially by strangers that were currently in control of Shrapnel's overall health, and he had no plans on taking such unfounded discrimination. "I demand to know of his status!"

The autodog merely shuttered his optics, appearing unaffected. "His bondmate, you say? Do you have a copy of your marriage license to verify that claim?," the other mech asked. "The patient is underage -he would need guardian consent to be romantically involved with someone of your age."

Rage flared within Bombshell and he shook as he desperately refrained from grabbing the mouthy vet by his throat and choking him. "Of course I don't have a marriage license on me!," he snarled. "We were married by tribal decree; I haven't had the time to send the paperwork into the region's municipality to authenticate it outside of the clans. If you need to verify our marriage, speak to any of the Insectipuma from his reserve, but you better tell me what his condition is NOW!"

The kittycon caught the motion of two security guards stepping forward out of the corner of his peripheral and he quickly took a step away from the vet, capping his anger for the time being. It would do him no good to get kicked out of the hospital, not when he had no clue as to where or what had become of Shrapnel. "...I'll go," Bombshell grumbled submissively, "Just... just tell me what's going on with the kid. I deserve that much after rushing out here in a frenzy."

The vet stared at him for another klik before he finally vented softly, shifting his clipboard as he glanced at the file upon its face. "Shrapnel's currently in stasis, suffering major energon loss and critical stress on his surrounding internals. He has perforations in his reproductive tanks, which led to him suddenly bleeding out, which we take as a clear indication of a botched abortion. Probably supervised by an underground vet who preys on poor tribesmech desperate for help," the autodog informed, his tone stiff but sympathetic. "The damage is severe and there is a high chance he may never be able to carry again if the tank walls do not mend together correctly. As well as that, we have reason to believe that an infection may have set in, endangering not only his systems but also Shrapnel's spark; which is at an irregular pulse rate due to the stress of this imperfect procedure. We don't know much more beyond that and won't know more until he wakes from stasis. If he wakes from stasis."

As the other mech had spoken, Bombshell had fallen into another chair, staring with wide optics at the tiled floor of the waiting room. There was a faint ringing in his ears, almost drowning out what the vet was saying, but the words still registered. In broken, muffled joints... but still heard. Looking down upon the narcotics dealer, the autodog finally softened his neutral gaze, venting sadly.

"The youngling is lucky that he didn't die. He'll be with us for a while yet, so, until we can confirm your identity, please don't worry. We'll contact you should everything check out and you may visit him then," the mech said.

The Insectipuma couldn't even nod his helm in answer. Waiting a klik longer, the vet eventually turned and left; one security guard remaining at the edge of the waiting room, patient, ready to escort Bombshell from the hospital once he arose from his daze. It must have been at least a cycle before that happened, but in time the kittycon did rise to his rubbery knees, slowly shuffling out the front door, watched by the ever diligent security guard. Bombshell though only went as far as his car; climbing in and staring up at the hospital from the driver's seat as night turned to dawn, unable nor wanting to leave the youngling barely hanging on behind concrete walls.

**C.M.D: Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	28. Rodimus

**C.M.D: Well, I've managed to get quite a few chapters done this month while handling other things, so instead of holding them in storage I decided I would go right ahead and post them for you all! Like a token of my love, just in time for Valentine's day~ So, please enjoy all the new updates and I'll see you all again next month!**

**Title: Rodimus**  
**Rating: PG**

He didn't know what compelled him to do it, but the autodog had decided to keep the sparkling.

"Congratulations, Mr. Hot Rod," the vet smiled, turning to face the other mech, "You have a healthy autodog pup almost ready to be born!"

Rodimus vented a "good", glancing at the sonogram for a moment before returning his gaze to the ceiling. He ignored the vet as they wiped the jelly from his rotund abdomen, getting up and redressing.

"Just make sure you keep taking your vitamins and get in minimum exercise daily," the other autodog was saying. "And make sure you pack an overnight bag soon. With only a couple months left, the lil' pup could come any orn!"

Rodimus nodded in acknowledgement, mumbling a goodbye to the vet's cheerful farewell and exited the office. He barely looked at the secretary as he finalized his last couple appointments, unmindful of her calling him "Mr. Hot Rod" as well. After all, it had been his original name... even if he'd gone by 'Rodimus' for much longer.

Venting wearily, the golden retriever put the name difference out of his thoughts, donning his coat and heading out into the cool, fall afternoon. The air nipped a little at his exposed ears, but the autodog ignored it, pocketing his bare servos as he strolled down the street. The quaint, tiny buildings were decked out in red, yellow and brown for the upcoming thanksgiving, reminding Rodimus that he hadn't eaten for a couple cycles now and he felt like he'd need to use the washroom again in a few kliks also. _Wonderful..._

Sighing, Rodimus turned into a nearby grocer, determined to pick up some things before his olfactory sensor took control of his wallet.

That lasted about five kliks, a bag of pasta, one head of tungsten lettuce and a pound of cesium salami later, before the autodog found himself hunting down what his fuel tanks really craved: onions and chocolate sauce. The onions he'd gotten already, the chocolate sauce... well, that was becoming the challenge.

"N-nghh...!," Rodimus grunted, desperately trying to reach the top shelves in the aisle, with little success, "W-who... whoever t-thought to p-put these s-so high up i-is an i-idiot and I h-hate them! Slaggit!"

Panting, the golden retriever dropped back onto his heels heavily, cupping his swollen middle as the slight bounce made the bornling kick sporadically. Angry, and now sore, Rodimus glared up at the tempting bottle of coco-goodness, cursing it for everything it was worth. It was so stupid! Usually a height difference of several inches would hardly be a bother to the autodog but fatigued and weighed down by an extra forty pounds, Rodimus could barely even get on his tip-toes, let alone stretch high enough to reach the chocolate sauce. Resignedly, he turned about, finding himself face-first in a stranger's chestplates.

"W-wha- _YOU!_ ," the golden retriever hissed, pushing away from Blackout. "Are you stalking me again?!"

"You want the chocolate sauce, yeah?," Blackout asked casually, not minding the autodog's hostility.

Rodimus' hackles rose and he squeezed around the panther as quickly as he could, elbowing him for good measure. "No!," he barked irritably. "Leave it alone!," he added, as he saw the panther grab a few bottles off the shelf.

Blackout ignored him again, loading the bottles into the shorter mech's basket and following after Rodimus' pedesteps to the front of the store. In retaliation, the golden retriever increased his pace as best he could; waddling right out of the store and down the block from the grocer. How dare he help! Rodimus seethed silently, trying to make it back to his apartment before the kittycon caught up with him. Every single orn that bastard panther had been showing up -first from afar and then right in his daily activities- and Rodimus hated how cozy he was getting with him. He ran from Iacon for a reason, with the intent of leaving everything horrible and everyone behind. So why did the stupid kittycon have to follow him and ruin that perfect escape?!

Huffing weakly, the autodog was forced to slow down, shuffling at a snail's pace into his building and up the stairs to his floor. By the end of it, Rodimus thought he was going to faint. He had expended _way_ too much energy fleeing the panther and now his body was making him pay for his poor decision.

"Woah, careful there," a familiar vocalizer said behind the autodog; a large servo cupping his lower back. Rodimus glared over a shoulder half-sparkedly, but Blackout only lifted up the bag of groceries he held, not removing his other servo. "You forgot your things," he replied to the stony gaze. "I took the liberty of getting a few bottles of sauce, so you ain't stuck struggling to reach them."

Seeing that the golden retriever was still glowering, the panther took it upon himself to slowly walk them both to the shorter mech's door; staring expectantly for Rodimus to unlock it. Only because he was dizzy and desperately needing a seat, did the autodog open the door, ignoring the kittycon that trailed in after him with a purr.

**xxXxXxx**

It was hard trying to be "nice".

Blackout wasn't very skillful at planning ahead and anticipating others' emotions, and all that stuff that required a wise processor. A taunt and a grope usually got him what he wanted, but Rodimus' growing belly had thrown him when he first laid optics on it. Even before that shocking revelation, the panther liked to believe that he knew that his usual stunts weren't going to have any effect on the autodog. After all, Rodimus had run away from Iacon, and the kittycon had put all of his (and Swindle's) best tricks into trying to make the lawyer his last time. Now the smaller mech was sparked and Blackout was lost at how to approach the situation.

He started with simple stalking. Hard to do, you'd think, what with Blackout's size, but the mech wasn't actually too bad at keeping low when he really needed to. So he hid and studied Rodimus for a quartex or two. The most important thing he discovered: the golden retriever was sad. And it wasn't a simple "oh-I-lost-some-stuff-in-the-move" sadness either.

Rodimus was aching _bad_ and trying to reach out to the autodog had given Blackout the reason why.

"It's not yours, okay?! Now leave me alone!"

That had left the kittycon even more conflicted. The realization that the autodog got his foster sire's affections (for one night, several orns- it didn't matter) filled Blackout with so much rage, he'd thought he would have choked Rodimus right then and there. Yes, he was jealous, but he was all the more disappointed that the lawyer's bornling may not be his own.

He'd started to warm to the idea of a pregnant Rodimus...

But, his or Ultra Magnus', Rodimus was still upset and so Blackout set all of his anger, envy and lust on the back-burner, as he tried to figure out how to make the autodog happy. Because if he could bring some sort of light back to that breaking spark, maybe the autodog would then give him a chance. The panther only hoped giving gifts was the way to do it.

**xxXxXxx**

"Hey, big guy!"

Blackout looked up from the doorway, staring down the apartment steps to some younger 'bots hanging from the side window of an unmarked, black van. They were vaguely, familiar faces. "Yeah?," the panther gruffed back, not moving from his seat. He didn't feel like getting up if the young cubs were gonna just holler at him.

The driver looked at his buddy, both grinning wide. "We got some 'shopping' to do tonight. Think ya can lend us another servo?," he asked.

Blackout pulled a drag from his cygar in silence for a moment. Normally, he kept himself away from street gangs and wanna-be hustlers, but he was short of some credit again and there was only so many times a thug could mug 'bots before he drew attention to himself. Plus, the last favor he'd done them had gone well.

"Alright," he answered, just when the head hoodlum started to grow impatient. "Am I bootin' it or you giving me a ride?"

The younger kittycon was grinning again. "Wha? Naw! My momma taught me to respect my elders and you're good people, Gramps," the gangster said, to the background chuckle of his homies. "Hop in the back; we'll give you a lift."

It was never smart to get in the back of some van, where who knows how many 'bots could be lying in wait, but Blackout wasn't worried as he headed for the vehicle. He'd already proven he was stronger than the upstart cub and his gang; they wouldn't try something as foolish as a physical assault. Still, the panther kept his guard up, knowing that the punks could try less forcible, under-handed tricks.

"So, rumor on the block is you got a glitch?," said the leader as the older kittycon lumbered into the back. Three other hoodlums moved to give Blackout room.

"What's it to you?," the large mech asked, black tail tensing angrily. He'd grown to really hate 'bots talking about Rodimus and he especially disliked hearing mention of the autodog come from a young gangster's vocalizer.

"You must be real hung up to spend so much credit on a trick," the youth chuckled.

"On a trick, sure," Blackout rumbled, finishing his cygar. He tossed the butt aside somewhere, "But I'll spend as much as I please on pedigree golden retriever. Especially if I claimed him first."

Whistles of awe and a couple passed jeers made their way around the van. The cubs were impressed, if not thrilled, by the idea of a conquered autodog. "You got rich tastes, Gramps," the leader purred, putting the van into motion, "Real swag."

The panther rolled his optical sensors, indifferent.

**xxXxXxx**

He was going to kill that cat!

Fist shaking, Rodimus glared at the pile of gifts that had been left at his apartment doorstep. As if sporting a growing belly wasn't bad enough, now the kittycon had to announce it to the whole floor that the golden retriever was sparked?! Well, he was having none of it, Rodimus decided, kicking a diaper bin and a gift bag filled with who knew what out of the way as he unlocked his door. All this scrap could stay out here in the meantime for the scavengers and when Blackout showed his ugly mug again, the lawyer would give him a piece of his mind!

"Oh, hey. You're home!"

Speak of Unicron himself...

Rodimus turned and glared at the kittycon squeezing his way down the narrow hall, two boxes under his arms. "What the slag do you think you're doing?!," the autodog demanded.

"Um...," the panther slowed as he neared the smaller 'bot, expression turning thoughtful as he processed the other's rude question, "Well, I thought you'd like some stuff for the lil' one you're gonna be having soon. Set up a nursery and all that."

Rodimus' hackles immediately rose and he pointed violently at the gifts at his pedes as he unleashed his ire at the kittycon. "How many times do I have to say it: my bornling is _not_ yours! It's an autodog -like its sire- so take your slagging 'gifts' and shove off! I don't need you!"

The panther merely scowled, setting down his load for a moment as he picked up the things Rodimus had kicked over earlier. "I get that it's not mine. I ain't sticking around 'cause I think it's mine," the brown mech gruffed. "I'm just figuring you could use some help to get stuff prepared before the bornling comes. I mean, you're gonna have your servos full afterwards as a single mom and all."

The golden retriever wanted to scream something vile at the other mech for the "single parent" comment, but his cruel words were swallowed forcibly as the smaller mech realized that's exactly what he was going to be. How bad of a situation was he in, if even _Blackout_ knew that Rodimus would never contact Ultra Magnus again, kid or no kid? Falling silent with the rising swell of grief, the autodog dropped his helm, all previous fight from him gone.

Blackout noticed and his ears instantly flattened in worry. Hostility he could handle (and kinda liked) from the lawyer; this sadness was an enemy the kittycon seemed unable to defeat and he hated being so helpless. "...I got ya a dual change table-dresser combo," the big thug distractedly said a klik later, reaching for the boxes again, "And I picked up that bassinet you've been eyeing at the store for a while."

Some flicker of life returned to the golden retriever's optics as his gaze slowly rose to meet the brown mech with a glower. "Don't you mean 'stole'?," he quipped dryly.

Blackout scowled lightly. "No, I bought them. With money." Rodimus gave him a look that said he didn't believe the kittycon. "I can work for my cash, you know," the panther added sourly.

"Not honest work, I'm sure," the autodog returned.

Blackout shrugged. "A minor detail. You should let me carry these in for you. They're a lil' heavy."

The golden retriever looked as if he was going to start shouting at the other mech for a moment, but it passed, and Rodimus sighed, entering his apartment without another look at the kittycon. "Just don't scratch the walls!," he shouted back.

The panther's tail swept the floor eagerly as he hurried to grab all his purchases for the smaller mech and head inside.

**xxXxXxx**

Rodimus didn't know what was becoming of himself.

Sitting alone in a darkening apartment, servos cupping a stuffed rabbit plushie, its black button eyes almost golden in the amber light. There was no good to be found in just sitting about, yet despite his best attempts, the autodog had been unable to do anything but sit all orn. His processor stirred sluggishly with indistinct thoughts, leaving the sparked mech trapped in a silent reverie, with nothing to save him from his isolation. How many times had he stared at this doll before?

Rodimus vented softly. He wasn't certain anymore.

He must of been in the store at least a hundred times before, digging the rabbit out among all the other critters, not sure if he should buy it or not. At the time, he did not know if he'd be keeping the bornling and the golden retriever hadn't wanted to buy an item for a person who may not even exist in a couple weeks. So he'd set the doll down and walked away. He must have done that a dozen times... and then one orn, Rodimus couldn't find the rabbit plushie in the bin, and it felt as if someone had stolen his sparkling from his very body.

Overcome with tears, it had been a nightmare to return home and when the lawyer did, it was to find Blackout at his door -rabbit plushie in the thug's monstrous claws, with a pretty gift bow around its neck. Rodimus had yelled at the kittycon for his unwanted stalking. Of course he had. He said a lot of cruel things that orn. Yet, once the panther had trudged away from his door, the autodog had quickly snatched the plushie off his doorstep; clutching it tightly to his spark as he hurried inside. Having the rabbit doll in his possession eased the ache Rodimus had carried in his chestplates for too long, but he didn't know how to feel about _Blackout_ being the one to give it to him.

In fact, the panther's actions every orn the following several months had Rodimus in a strange predicament, and he didn't like where it left him in confusion and restless emotions. The lawyer had thought anger would deter the kittycon but Blackout had proven again and again that it wasn't enough. Now, Rodimus had a whole nursery prepared for his bornling, every accessory imaginable included, and the autodog was stuck. A small, small part of him had hoped that Ultra Magnus might track him down; apologize for his wrong-doing and take the golden retriever as his own. But... that hadn't happened. Blackout had found him instead. Blackout had given him so many gifts for a sparkling not his own and (so he said) expected nothing in return. Blackout...

A knock at the door startled Rodimus. As if through tar, the mech turned his helm, staring across the apartment to the sound's source. Another hard rap had the autodog rising to his pedes; one servo on the handle as he swung the door open to find Blackout on the other side.

"Hey, I brought you some more onions and chocolate sauce since you seem to...," the panther trailed off, his large brow furrowing as he noticed the strange state Rodimus was in. "Hey, is everything okay?"

The lawyer was mute. He stared up at the kittycon, finding all his former hatred and annoyance and disgust gone when faced with the brown mech. The memories were still there, not to be confused, but it was like all the feeling had bled away. None of it mattered anymore.

"...Rodimus? Hot Rod?"

Blue optics shuttered in slight surprise, unaware of the larger mech leaning in at any point, but now beady, pink orbs gazed into his face with great concern. Pink... huh... He didn't know why he did it, nor would he ever have an answer later, but Rodimus reached out; grasping a fat claw in one servo as he took a weak step back. Blackout followed the autodog's lead without question, taking over when the lawyer could move no more. Switching on lights, the panther chased away the shadows filling the apartment, gently grasping Rodimus' servo as he locked the door behind them both.

**C.M.D: ...this is gonna be a long arc... and angsty... Forewarning in advance!**  
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	29. Wasp and Bumblebee

**C.M.D: Well, I've managed to get quite a few chapters done this month while handling other things, so instead of holding them in storage I decided I would go right ahead and post them for you all! Like a token of my love, just in time for Valentine's day~ So, please enjoy all the new updates and I'll see you all again next month!**

**Title: Wasp and Bumblebee**   
**Rating: T**

It had been nearly a whole quartex since Bumblebee had seen Wasp last.

Standing at the corner of the street, five feet away from the alley where he'd first been "reunited" with his old friend, the chihuahua adjusted his coat collar, before shoving his servos deep into the pockets to protect them from the biting wind. His entire frame was starting to go numb from the cold, and his cheekplates felt raw, but the youngling didn't want to return home just yet. Though he'd never say it aloud, Bumblebee was worried. Wasp had never disappeared for more than an orn or two after coming back into his life and with the weather getting really nasty, the autodog wondered how his friend's thin, worn clothes could protect him from the cold.

A buzzing in his pocket distracted the youngling from his thoughts and he pulled out his cell to find a picture of Optimus on the screen. Great... He'd been outside long enough now to worry even his foster parent. Venting heavily, Bumblebee turned and did one more walk-through of the alleyway, finding nothing but some poor turborats and a lot of frosted trash. He had no choice at this point but to call his searching over tonight, especially as his phone began buzzing a second time -Optimus, still.

Hitting the receive button, Bumblebee gave his hellos, beginning the exhausted trek home.

**xxXxXxx**

_The walk to Optimus' townhouse was about twenty kliks- ten by bus and another ten on pede, as long as the weather was good. Overall, not a lengthy trip and one Bumblebee was comfortable with travelling any orn._

_This wasn't one of those orns._

_Getting off a stop early, the youngling surveyed the street for any sign of trouble, but aside from some younger sparklings in the nearby plaza and an elderly couple walking, the block was clear. So far, so good. Venting in relief, Bumblebee hastened through the townhouse complex to his left, cutting across lawns and jumping fences. He risked getting in trouble with the homeowners but given the alternative of a ruthless beating, the chihuahua would take it._

_See, he'd run into an old friend of his about a month ago... An orphan, just like him, who didn't take too kindly to the fact that Bumblebee had gotten a better deal out of their shared circumstances. And now the chihuahua was on the top of the other's hit list. Coming up to the last stretch of fence before his street, Bumblebee was glad that this orn would be one when he wouldn't come home with bruised plating. Optimus was suspicious, after all, and he'd only buy the youngling's lies for so long._

" _Jeez... I never did anything to that mech," the youngling grumbled, adjusting his knapsack for the last jump. "Can't believe I ever worried about what happened to him!" He paused to lean, grunting as he caught the edge and scrambled to pull himself up and over. "Like, seriously, I never sent him off to who knows where- AH!"_

_A servo snatched Bumblebee's pede unexpectedly, yanking him over the fence and crashing straight to the ground. The autodog cried out as he landed poorly on his side, trying to see thought pained tears at his sudden assailant. "S-slag!," he hissed, recognizing Wasp's looming frame._

_The other chihuahua looked frightful: fangs bared, purple optics narrowed into slits and fists curled at the ready by his sides would be enough to scare away lesser 'bots. Having a nasty coat of mud and- Primus, was that dried on energon on his neck?!- and tattered clothes only made the autodog look more feral. Trying to get to his pedes quickly, clutching his aching side, Bumblebee kept his optics on the other youngling, wary of when he would attack._

" _P-please," he swallowed fearfully, "I-i'm almost at my house- My guardian will see!"_

" _Wasp not care," the other chihuahua snapped, taking a step forward, fingers flared like claws, "Wasp make Bumblebot pay for Bumblebot's treachery!"_

_Bumblebee barely missed the fist that came flying for his helm, whimpering as the duck aggravated his side. Primus, he hoped he hadn't broken something... but he'd much prefer to escape from the green stray before he broke anything else. Wheezing, the yellow chihuahua scrambled to flee his attacker, missing an attempted gouge for his optics, receiving a scratched cheekplate instead as he kicked at Wasp's legs in a panic. The other youngling snarled at the retaliation, grabbing for Bumblebee's throat, but the yellow autodog saw his opening and gunned it, slipping out and away from the crazed chihuahua._

_There was a heavy thump behind him as Bumblebee hurried away as much as his aching side would allow, spark pulsing erratically, expecting at any moment Wasp would grab him from behind. Hitting the last line of houses before home, no attack had still taken place, and so the youngling slowed in surprise; ignoring the caution and glancing behind him. Not even a sign of the stray._

_Bumblebee stood in place for a long while, torn._

_He should have just went home -he knew that, wanted to really badly- but curiosity was tugging hard. Slowly, with a slight limp, the youngling inched around the block to where Wasp had accosted him. Hissing in alarm when he saw the stray was still there, Bumblebee ducked out of sight, peerking out of cover when he heard nothing after a klik. Wasp was still there- laying on the ground, face first in some mud, not moving an inch. The chihuahua swallowed worriedly, coming out of hiding. Even if he was pretending, surely Wasp would have risen by now and headed off somewhere else for the rest of the evening, right?_

_Shuffling closer, little by little, Bumblebee saw that Wasp wasn't going anywhere anytime soon. Optics shuttered feverishly, discolouration around the edges of shallow cuts, the green youngling was cycling intakes raggedly; the sound emitting from his throat similar to gravel rolling in a tin can. Wasp was sick... like, really, really sick._

_What was he to do?_

_Guilt squirmed in Bumblebee's tanks as he looked down at the ragged stray, fighting with the unexpected onslaught of emotions. He wanted to leave, ditch Wasp where he was, for better or worse, but hopefully to get some help from someone not the yellow youngling. But, who... Who could possibly help without sending the stray back to the system? Sick and weak, maybe infectious too, the people charged with a ward's care wouldn't be kind to Wasp's situation. They might even just throw him back out into the streets in some ghetto, simply because they don't want to take care of their sick charges._

_He was getting nowhere..._

_Groaning, Bumblebee reached down and awkwardly tried to lift Wasp under one arm, berating himself silently as he struggled to drag the stray back home._

**xxXxXxx**

"You're late," Optimus greeted when the youngling finally walked through the door.

Rolling his optics, Bumblebee didn't even bother to reply to the statement, turning away slightly as he began to shed his outdoor wear. "I called you and told you that I was running late," he replied.

The german shepherd folded his arms over his chestplates, a firm scowl on his face as he followed the chihuahua from one room to the next. "You didn't call me, I called you. After fretting for about a cycle when you didn't come home within the first cycle of school being let out," Optimus said angrily, setting up position in the kitchen doorway. "All I ever asked of you Bumblebee was that you let me know where you were going after school and an approximate of when you'd be home. I worry that something may happen to you and with you just wandering the streets out there in this cold-"

"I wasn't just 'wandering the street', ok?!," Bumblebee cut in snippily, slamming the cupboard doors as he grabbed a glass. "If you're so slagging interested, I was looking for Wasp alright! I haven't seen him in weeks..."

Optimus paused in surprise. "Wasp? This is about Wasp? Oh, Bumblebee...," the mech vented wearily. "Wasp is a stray- you said it yourself. He's probably moved on to someplace else about now! Maybe, he's even been taken back in by the system and found a good home."

"No!," the chihuahua shouted, whirling around on his guardian. "Wasp would _die_ before he let the system have him again! And he wouldn't just leave without telling me!" Wasp cared about him. He loved him even! Bumblebee knew that Optimus got squicky over the knowledge that he and the other youngling had fragged, but why couldn't the older autodog see that the two younglings had something?

Even in the face of the smaller autodog's vehemency, the secretary only sighed in exasperation, opening his mouth to spout more things that Bumblebee clearly did not want to hear. Slamming his glass on the counter, the youngling took off for the hall immediately, shoving past his guardian and letting the thundering sound of his pedes running up the stairs drown out Optimus' calls.

**xxXxXxx**

_Everything hurt._

_Optics onlining with great difficulty, the stray tried to move but found that even the slightest motion sent his processor reeling. Swallowing back a pathetic whimper, Wasp fell back to his soft prison, finding himself perplexed among the dizziness. Where was he? Soft, warm... familiar smelling... This wasn't some molding box, outside behind a trashcan. This was almost... heavenly... Hazy optics roved around his available area of visibility, slowly taking in the room -with its desk, closet, few video game posters- and realized he was tucked snugly in someone's berth in a strange house._

_Hackles raising defensively, the chihuahua tried again to pull himself out of the berth, almost missing the door opening across from him. "W-woah! Wait, wait!," Bumblebee hissed loudly, sneaking into the room, setting his things down in a hurry and rushing for Wasp._

_He ignored the poor swipes at his frame, a little roughly pushing the stray back down. "Calm down," the yellow autodog continued in his harsh whisper, "Listen, if you keep making noise, Optimus' gonna find out about you and call the Enforcers. Do you want to go back to the System, 'cause I don't think you do!"_

_The green chihuahua froze for a moment, staring at the other youngling suspiciously, but Bumblebee only huffed; tucking the blankets snugly around the stray once more. "You're sick, alright," he informed, a little softer, "And I mean, I should have left you out on the street and all, since you want to kill me, but we both know how that would play out later... So, rest and est, and you can sneak out later or something to plot another murder attempt. Sound good?"_

_Wasp remained silent though his tanks gave a little, pained rumble at the sound of food. An annoying smile coming to the yellow chihuahua's face, Bumblebee walked back to the desk, picking up the tray he'd been forced to put there a klik ago. "I figured some bolt and nut soup would be best, but I gotcha some buns and an apple too. Who knows when you ate last."_

_Bumblebee stood at the berthside, waiting for Wasp to sit up, but the other youngling was being stubborn. They both knew how hungry he was and yet he wouldn't move or even reach out to take the delicious-smelling food from the yellow chihuahua. After another klik, Bumblebee scowled, almost dropping the tray onto his nightstand as he put it aside._

" _Fine. It's there if you want it," he said, fishing something else out of his pocket, that he set on the tray as well. "There's some medicine too. I'd suggest that you take it for your bad throat."_

_Then the yellow youngling turned and headed for his desk, putting on a pair of headphones and grabbing binders out of his bags. Wasp realized he was being ignored in favor of homework and that probably stunned the chihuahua more than Bumblebee sheltering him. He lay and watched the back of the other autodog's helm for a while, trying to make sense of everything that was happening, before the scent of his offered dinner became too much to push aside any longer. Slowly sitting up, Wasp finally took notice that his arms and servos had been cleaned; any cuts washed and bandaged as well._

_Glancing at Bumblebee's back, the stray could only stare, a question on his lip components that he eventually bit back in annoyance. As quietly as possible, Wasp grabbed the tray off the nightstand, setting it on his lap before digging in ravenously. When he'd finished, he noticed that Bumblebee had turned around in his seat and was watching him with sad optics. The pitying stare was enough to send the stray's hackles on end._

" _What Bumblebot want?!," he snapped viciously._

" _Nothing... nothing...," the yellow autodog murmured, looking away. "You want something more to eat?"_

_Wasp growled._

" _Dude, chill," Bumblebee scowled, fixing the green chihuahua with a look he'd accidentally adopted from Optimus, "Consider this a... a... truce, or something. When you're better, you can go back to chasing me and threatening to snuff out my spark, okay? So, again, you want some more?"_

_Again, Wasp was stunned. He stared at Bumblebee uncertainly before slowly nodding. The yellow youngling returned the nod, getting up and leaving the room. When he came back, he had his arms full with some juice boxes, fruit and even a bag of chips, which he all charitably dumped on his berth for the stray's consumption. Not even offering a thanks in return, Wasp continued to eat, ignoring Bumblebee as he went about his business, until the other autodog was calling softly for his attention._

" _Hey," the yellow chihuahua said, dressed in a pair of pajamas. Wasp shuttered his optics dumbly. When had Bumblebee changed? "Listen, I gotta go to sleep now, so I'm turning off the light. Feel free to use the lamp beside you if you want, but try to keep quiet so you're not found out. And take your medicine!"_

" _...what Bumblebot keeping Wasp secret for?," the stray demanded rudely._

_The other youngling shook his helm, merely switching out the light. Descended into darkness, Wasp could barely see Bumblebee lay down somewhere on the berthroom floor, the sound of shifting blankets reaching his ears._

" _I ain't expecting anything out of you in return, Wasp," came the yellow autodog's soft reply, a yawn escaping between sentences, "Just looking out for one of us... you know..."_

_Looking out? For him? Wasp wanted to climb off the berth and punch the impudent youngling in the helm. How dare he say that when he left the stray behind to live a much better life! But despite his desires, Wasp was feeling really horrible again. The aches and pains, heat in his helm and the crushing thickness of his throat was creeping back up, making even the thought of standing turn the chihuahua's tanks so roughly he thought he'd purge right then and there._

_No, Wasp decided, reluctantly reaching for the medicine Bumblebee had brought. He'd accept the other autodog's offering for now, but tomorrow he'd get back to making his traitorous ex-friend pay. The cold liquid working fast, Wasp wriggled back under the soft comforter, exhaustion already tugging at his optics. He duly noted that the homely scent he'd smelled earlier was that of Bumblebee's; surrounding him in its entirety as he slipped off to recharge, nestled snugly in the warm cocoon._

_What a gentle, sweet scent..._

**xxXxXxx**

Cycles later, and it was pitch black out for once, as night descended upon the city of Iacon. Despite the lack of visibility, Bumblebee sat uncomfortably by his window's sill, staring out into the grey void, wondering and worrying. A part of him wanted to get dressed and sneak downstairs, leaving once more to search for his wayward friend... but another part of him knew it would be pointless. If he couldn't even find Wasp during the daylight hours, Bumblebee certainly knew he'd never find him in the thriving nightlife of Iacon's homeless and vagabonds. Just thinking about that only upset the youngling further and he buried his chin in his arms as he drew his knees up to his chestplates.

Optimus just didn't _get it_...

That wasn't too say that he didn't care -the german shepherd had such a big spark- but he just didn't get it. He'd never been orphaned or taken away from a parent that was deemed unfit to raise him. He'd never lived in a sparkling home, barely noticed by the caretakers and left to fend against the meaner, crueler sparklings and younglings. He'd never been forced into the guardianship of 'bots even worse than the drunk carrier one was taken from and he never had to face the choice of running off into the unknown or remaining in that abuse.

There was so much that Optimus would never understand about being a ward in the System and that Bumblebee could never explain to him. He'd never understand the fear, the sleepless nights, the useless wishing and hoping...

And the german shepherd would never fully understand the reality that "a missing orphan" usually meant "a dead one" -if lucky.

Normally, Bumblebee would let Optimus' ignorance slide, but this was one time where their difference of worlds crashed, and what the youngling needed was his guardian to at least sympathize if not understand. Wasp was a living testament to how fragged a 'bot could get because of the System's carelessness, but since reappearing in the other chihuahua's life, he had never strayed far from Optimus' house or the school that Bumblebee attended. He was always nearby, seeking shelter and physical company from the yellow youngling on a weekly, sometimes nightly, basis.

But now Wasp had just disappeared. He couldn't be found in his usual spots around Iacon, he didn't come rapping at the chihuahua's window in the dead of night and he was no longer found sleeping under the backyard porch for warmth and dryness. He had truly and honestly vanished... And Bumblebee felt his spark only wither in fear. So maybe it was just youth and heat and all that other medical mumbo jumbo- it didn't matter. The fact was that Bumblebee had come to love Wasp after their reunion and that love was what made him worry a thousand-fold more over the other's safety.

If they'd just stayed friends... or enemies... maybe...? The youngling sighed, shifting slightly at his post, shuttering his optics at the thick flurries descending heavily from the sky. He could ponder what-ifs forever, but in this moment now, Bumblebee just wanted Wasp here with him. He wanted to know he was safe, in a warm place and with some decent food filling his tanks for once. He didn't want to think of his ex-friend slash ex-enemey slash turned-mechfriend out there, injured or possibly worse, at the mercy of some horrible 'bot. To go to recharge for once comforted by the certainty of where Wasp was and that the stray was well.

But that night, like many others, would not be tonight.

Cycling a shaky intake, Bumblebee pressed a servo to the now-rattling panes, feeling how terribly frigid the world was on the other side of the glass. A storm seemed to be rolling in, and who knew what that meant for Iacon tomorrow morning. "I-if...," Bumblebee whispered, staring up into the dark heavens outside, "If there's some sort of being or Primus, please... p-please, keep my friend W-wasp safe tonight."

Only the howling wind echoed his prayer and, reluctantly, the youngling was forced to retreat from his post and return to his berth for the rest of the night.

**xxXxXxx**

_When Bumblebee woke up the next morning, Wasp was gone._

_And so was his blanket and the cold syrup he'd brought him but those were irrelevant._

_He could use his allowance to replace the missing stuff in time, right now though his real concern was toward the stray that had sneaked out of his window sometime in the night. Picking up his own blanket and pillow from the floor, the youngling threw them on the berth, climbing on top of it himself so he could see out from the window. A soft, whisper of a cool breeze caressed his cheekplate as he looked down upon the backyards of fellow townhouses; quiet and empty this early in the morning._

" _Where did you go, idiot?," Bumblebee whispered to no one, brow furrowed in concern._

_He knew very well that Wasp could be back to try and kill him again, so caring about the other's whereabouts was highly dumb of him. But the green youngling was sick -sick enough to collapse into a near comatose state!- and he hadn't reacted too badly when he awoke last night to find himself in Bumblebee's care. Was it wrong to think that maybe the chihuahua had a chance then to get Wasp's forgiveness and repair their friendship...?_

_A quick rap on the door behind him startled Bumblebee and when he turned about, Optimus was opening the door, smiling at his charge. "Good morning, Bumblebee. I'm glad to see you're up already!," he greeted warmly. "I'll just let you get ready for school then. Oh, would you like some waffles for breakfast today?"_

" _U-uh... Yeah. Sure," the youngling smiled back faintly, glad when his guardian didn't notice his lack of enthusiasm at the offer. With a soft farewell, Optimus backed out of the room again, closing the door behind him as he went. Bumblebee immediately turned to stare back out the window again once he was gone; sighing loudly when he realized he'd spent several kliks looking at nothing and worrying over the stray's status._

" _If I see him, then I guess I'll see him," Bumblebee mumbled to himself, closing the window and shuffling away to get ready for the orn._

**xxXxXxx**

Optimus was on the phone was Bumblebee staggered into the kitchen the next morning; optics bleary and hunched over as the youngling tried to fight off the last dregs of sleep.

"Yes, I know, but wouldn't-? Okay... Okay, of course, sir; I understand. Yes, agreed. Goodbye, sir," Optimus sighed, hanging up the phone. He turned about in surprise, catching the youngling trying to zombify his way to a bowl of cereal. "Bumblebee?!," he exclaimed, "What are you doing up at this hour?"

The chihuahua paused, lethargically turning to Optimus, to the clock on the kitchen wall, then back to Optimus, finding himself not any less puzzled by the german shepherd's question. "It's six thirty," he groggily replied, stifling a yawn. "I got school."

"Actually," the older autodog smiled wryly, gently turning the youngling towards the kitchen window, "You don't." Outside, piled high enough to obscure at least half of the window, was snow. Lots and lots of snow... And it was still coming down in windy, heavy sheets. "Most of Iacon is snowed in today, so... no school."

Bumblebee snapped awake in a second, bolting from the kitchen and to every room he could in the townhouse. Nothing changed though; every window showed mountains of snow pressed up against the glass and from the second floor the view became a sea of brilliant, white foam swallowing almost everything up in its depths. Helm banging against the pane of his berthroom window, the youngling tried to fight back the fear that was wrestling for dominance in his spark. A blizzard wasn't what he had prayed for last night and he desperately hoped that Wasp wasn't currently out in this winter nightmare. He couldn't possibly survive this if he was...

"Bumblebee? Bumblebee!" Optimus was calling from downstairs. "I'm going to make us some breakfast, okay? Afterwards, we can discuss what we'd like to do today. I've got board games!"

The chihuahua vented weakly, not moving. "Yeah, okay," he eventually shouted back, staring out into the white nothing. He barely heard the german shepherd give his confirmation before the soft ruckus of pots and pans echoed upstairs.

A cycle and a half later, the two autodogs were seated at the kitchen table, a large stack of pancakes, sausage, toast and scrambled eggs between them. Already, Bumblebee had a few pancakes on his own plate and was covering them in syrup as he stared at the abundance of food. "...Why'd you make so much?"

Optimus flushed at the youngling's question, wiping his mouth after a bite of his toast. "It's been a while since I've had the time to make you a nice breakfast like this, that I... I kinda got carried away," he admitted in embarrassment. "I'm surprised you're not eating much, though."

Bumblebee gave a tiny smile at the statement. "Yeah, well, it gets hard to eat a lot first thing in the morning before school, so I guess my tanks have shrunk or something. Anyways, how long will it take for the city's crew to clear up this mess?," he asked.

"I... don't actually know," Optimus said, frowning a bit as he scooped his eggs up, "Normally, the snow crews are able to clear the streets before morning traffic starts, but I don't think anyone was anticipating such a heavy snowfall to happen overnight. If they aren't snowed in themselves, maybe-" A knock at the door caused the two autodogs to drop into immediate silence.

"...whose that?," the chihuahua asked, getting up slowly.

"I'm not sure," the german shepherd replied, rising as well. He held out a servo and gestured for the youngling to take his seat again. "Stay here, Bumblebee. I'll go check."

The youngling pouted, but let his guardian leave the kitchen for the pounding at the door, getting up anyways and peeking around the corner as Optimus undid the lock. With a vent, the older mech twisted the handle, attempting to open it just a crack but the wind and snow forced him to stumble back as the door swung wide open suddenly. "W-wha- _Sentinel?!_ ," the german shepherd exclaimed as a yeti stepped in through the snow bank.

No, not a yeti, just that Sentinel jerk covered helm to pede in snow.

Bumblebee scowled at the mech's presence, shuttering his optics in surprise when a smaller yeti trailed inside behind the rottweiler. "What are you doing here?," Optimus was saying, sounding stressed and concerned all at the same time. "It's a blizzard out there- are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Sentinel pulled the scarf and hat from his face, helping the secretary shove the door closed, as he gave his friend a sullen frown. "I'm not going to be bothered by some stupid, little snowfall. Besides, City Hall's closed today, so I knew you'd be home alone and I figured you could use some company," he answered cockily.

"I'm not alone, Sentinel. You know that!"

"So what, you want me to head back out into the 'frigid wilderness' to go home and tempt the fates?"

Bumblebee rolled his optical sensors as Optimus gaped idly, trying to work past the fluster and respond to Sentinel's stupidity. The youngling though, had decided he'd witnessed enough of the rottweiler's childish antics, and turned back into the kitchen; intent on grabbing as much of the breakfast as he could and retreating to his room before both mechs made their way to his area. In his wish to get away from Sentinel, Bumblebee had clear forgotten about the security guard's tag-along, until a third vocalizer was clearing itself from right behind the chihuahua.

"Bumblebot running away now?," came the teasing jibe.

Frozen in place, the chihuahua found it suddenly hard to cycle atmosphere, not realizing that his servos were trembling hard until after what felt like an eternity. Setting down his plate in haste, Bumblebee spun around, finding Wasp standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Dripping outerwear in one servo, other tucked into the pocket of a new pair of jeans, while a white dress shirt poked out from collar of the knit sweater he wore... Wasp looked well. No, he looked more than that, he looked _gorgeous_. Bumblebee didn't know how to react.

He'd always liked how the stray looked, but to see him so well-nourished, with healthy fur and a set of nice clothes on a full frame -needless to say, it was making the yellow autodog weak in the knee joints in so many ways, most of which was relief. "H-how... Wha...?," Bumblebee stammered, slowly padding towards the green chihuahua.

Wasp carelessly dropped his wet things on the floor, grabbing hold of the other youngling once he was close enough and pulling him tight against his frame. "Jerkbot made Wasp an offer," he grinned, ducking in to steal a nibble at the yellow autodog's neck cables. His optics narrowed gleefully when Bumblebee stifled a breathless yip in response. "He give Wasp home and clothes, if Wasp agree to be 'foster son'."

"B-but," Bumblebee squirmed, trying to fight back the blush as the stray naughtily nipped him again. "T-the System-! They'd make you go a-anywhere! You h-hate them!"

Wasp released the other chihuahua as Optimus and Sentinel rounded into the kitchen, the german shepherd stopping in his tracks in alarm. "W-wasp?! Sentinel, you brought Wasp? But, he's a stray!," the secretary said, turning to look at his friend incredulously.

"Not anymore he isn't," Sentinel answered proudly, crossing his arms over his puffed up chestplates. "I took the stray in and even sorted out his paperwork with the proper authorities. They agreed to let him stay under my care since he's almost grown out of their supervision anyways."

Both Bumblebee and Optimus shuttered their optics in shock. "B-but, why...?," Optimus began.

"Well, it's time that I gave back to the community, I thought," the rottweiler explained, "And what better way to start then to help the homeless, uneducated street pup that had befriended your own kid."

The yellow youngling made a face, feeling as if he might purge at the cheesy line that Sentinel had just fed Optimus. Unfortunately, his guardian was a little more gullible and he swallowed his friend's words up, even stammering out an apology for ever thinking the other mech was a self-concerned fool while said idiot sat at the kitchen table and began helping himself to some breakfast. Before Bumblebee could make a comment though, Wasp was pulling him out of the kitchen and up the stairs towards his room.

"I-is...," the yellow autodog asked uncertainly, "Is what Sentinel said... true? I mean, obviously not about caring for the community and all that slag, but the System and-?"

"Is true," Wasp answered, glancing back at his friend. "Wasp almost run again when Jerkbot went to System. But they gave Wasp all papers and said Wasp would outgrow their jurisdiction in two months, so they not care. Now Wasp legally Jerkbot's 'foster son'."

The other chihuahua was still very confused. "But why?," he inquired, as the stray led them both into his room.

Wasp huffed a bit in annoyance, but obliged Bumblebee with an answer. "Is it not obvious, Bumblebot? Jerkbot think if he adopts Wasp, it'll make Jerkbot look good to Bumblebot's sire and Bumblebot's sire will let Jerkbot into his pants."

"Why that perverted slageater!," Bumblebee growled, "I'll-" He was cut off with yelp, Wasp's mouth slamming against his own as the green chihuahua suddenly pinned the other youngling to the wall. Whimpering low in his vocalizer, Bumblebee grabbed the stray by the helm, deepening the kiss even as he arched into the other's wandering servos.

"No more talk about Jerkbot," Wasp snarled softly, pulling back and nibbling at the yellow autodog's bottom lip component. "Wasp wait long time to see Bumblebot again. Wasp plan on claiming Bumblebot _now_."

Bumblebee said nothing to the statement, steering the both of them towards the berth as the stray's servos dipped inside his pants to grope at his tail and aft. "G-glad you're o-okay," he mumbled, peppering Wasp's neck cables with little kisses and bites as the green autodog pressed him flat against the sheets. "M-missed you."

Wasp growled appreciatively, licking up a flattened ear as he ground into his complacent partner. "Missed Bumblebot too," he confessed as they wrestled their clothes out of the way. "Now," he added, optics bright with his conviction, "Bumblebot always be mine."

Bumblebee only yanked the stray down for another searing kiss, silently confirming the other's declaration.

**C.M.D: Before I forget, there won't be more to this ficlet. Sorry! It's just, I always wanted to write a little chapter for Bumblebee or Wasp without carrying it on too far, so I finally got a chance to sit down and crank my lil' nibblets out. It's cute, funny and will tie in a little later when I do an additional chapter for Optimus and Sentinel (yes, that's a guarantee) so stick around and I'll see you all next time!**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	30. Lockdown and Swindle IV

**C.M.D: Well, I've managed to get quite a few chapters done this month while handling other things, so instead of holding them in storage I decided I would go right ahead and post them for you all! Like a token of my love, just in time for Valentine's day~ So, please enjoy all the new updates and I'll see you all again next month!**

**Title: Lockdown and Swindle IV**   
**Rating: M**

He wiped his optics for good measure, but nope, Lockdown was still standing there.

"...What the slag do you want?," the devon rex asked.

"Aw, c'mon babe," the albino purred, leaning further through the doorway; energon bottles clinking together at the action. The tiger gave a quick yelp when the door smacked into his chin shortly after.

"Get lost, you fragger!"

Growling, Lockdown pushed back against the door, looking around the frame at the smaller kittycon. "What the frag is your problem?," he demanded. "I'm in town, finished up some business and I thought, hey! Let's get some beers and celebrate like ol' times, babe! And this is the greeting I get?"

"Celebrate? I don't fragging celebrate like that, moron," Swindle returned, not letting up, "A beer and a few frags is your idea of a fun time! Not mine!"

The tiger frowned. "So that's a 'no'? You didn't mind before."

"I'm not sixteen anymore!," the tan mech growled, slamming harder on the door. "You're fragged in the processor anyway if you think I'm fragging you after you knocked me up!"

"I thought you said I never think with that helm, anyhow," Lockdown chuckled, slipping his pede in between the door and frame quickly. It only took one good push with his knee afterwards and he was in; Swindle face-first on the ground a couple feet away.

Pushing himself up, the devon rex watched sourly as the thug walked into the apartment, sauntering immediately for the kitchen. "Don't be a fragging wise aft. And get out of my fridge!," he yelled, getting up.

**xxXxXxx**

"What is that Unicron-damned smell?"

Growling slightly at the offending odour, Onslaught stalked further into his home; dropping his suitcase off at the staircase before turning into the living room. Here, the stench was stronger and his olfactory sensor actually crinkled back unpleasantly. Staring down on the floor, the serval was both surprised and somewhat not, to see Wildrider trying to roll onto his bottom; little paws reaching desperately for the large, rancid bulge formed on the bottom of his diaper.

"SWINDLE!," Onslaught roared.

Little Wildrider cooed at at his shout, giggling and rocking harder, wanting to play with his excrements in the diaper.

Slowly, shuffling came, Swindle rounding the other corner into the living room. "...yes?," he asked neutrally, ears flattened slightly -the only sign that he knew he was in trouble.

"What," Onslaught started slowly, struggling to keep his tone calm and even, "Is this?"

A fat, grey finger pointed to Wildrider, still lost in his "game." Swindle's optics slid to his smelly bornling slowly, before returning to his sire. "It's my son."

"Yes... but why hasn't he been changed?"

The devon rex shuttered his optics. "He's not wearing any clothes."

"He's wearing a diaper!," Onslaught snapped, his patience waning fast. "That poor thing reeks like some dive's sewer tunnels, and right now, he's sporting a bulge big enough for him to play with- which he seems quite eager to do! That diaper needs to be taken off and a fresh one put on!"

Swindle remained standing casually by the doorway. "What's wrong with a bath at the end of the day?," he asked, with all the sincerity of the dumb.

At such a ridiculous question, Onslaught almost didn't know what to say. Pinching his olfactory sensor momentarily, the serval slowly vented, trying to regather his thoughts. "Diapers need to be changed every time a bornling goes to the washroom, to keep rashes and infections from forming. Don't you know anything about bornlings?"

Raising his optics, the serval was surprised to see Swindle quickly look away; shoulders tense and ears flattened fully.

"...do you even know how to change a diaper?," the older mech asked softly. A quiet, grumbled 'no' was his answer after a long klik. Sighing, Onslaught pinched the bridge of his olfactory sensor again. He never would have guessed that the devon rex didn't know how to do something as simple as change a diaper (the hospital nurses would have shown him directly) but he hadn't realized how proud a 'bot his son was.

Truly, he lived in a family of interesting individuals.

"Alright," the serval vented softly, crossing the room and picking up Wildrider by his middle. The bornling squealed and cooed in delight at the change of altitude. "Come with me."

Swindle reluctantly looked at his sire, ignoring the squeaking bundle wiggling for his attention. "What exactly are we doing now?," he demanded suspiciously.

Grabbing the entrepreneur's arm, Onslaught dragged his son to the staircase. "We're going to learn how to change a diaper," he replied cheerfully. Pausing, he grinned back at the smaller kittycon, optics lit with dark humor. "Don't worry about a thing- I've had a lot of practice."

Scowling slightly, Swindle said nothing as he was tugged upstairs.

**xxXxXxx**

One servo wandered groggily around the top of the berth, knocking empty bottles off the nightstand before long fingers curled over a small, cardboard box. Grunting, Lockdown's helm finally emerged from the tangled comforter, squeezing the box a little until the lid popped; displaying several cyg-sticks, which the mech drew to his face to yank one of them out by the denta.

"Swindle...?," he grunted, bleary optics trying to sense things out in the dim lighting. "Swin? Frag... where's my lighter?"

The tiger fumbled some more in the dark, so absorbed in his task that he didn't see the shadow slinking on the ceiling above. Finally finding his target, Lockdown rolled over on the berth, kicking the comforter aside as he stretched leisurely on his back. "Babe?," he hollered to the ajar door, "Ya got any food? I'm starving."

He didn't wait for answer before lighting up his cyg; catching the little glimpse of red at the ceiling fan an astrosecond before something dive-bombed him from above, crashing dead center into his crotch. Lockdown let loose a high-pitched yowl of agony as he tried to leap from the berth, screeching again when he felt the vile attacker dig its claws in, right at the moment he tried to yank it off. Practically crying now, the tiger managed to wrench the clawed demon off... and found the giggling, maroon face of his child staring up at him.

"Ah...," Swindle's vocalizer was heard; the devon rex standing smugly in the doorway, "I see you've found your daddy, Wildrider. Good boy."

The sparkling crowed happily, wiggling like an eel in Lockdown's grasp while the albino glared at the other mech. "You set that up on purpose...," he growled, optics still wet with tears of agony.

"Nope," Swindle smirked, turning to leave. "But I certainly don't mind what he did."

"You- wait!," the tiger yelped, keeping Wildrider at arm's length as he waddled out the room after the kittycon, "Don't leave him with me!"

**xxXxXxx**

" _Just what exactly do you think you're doing?," Lockdown growled, slamming through the apartment door. The abused door creaked dangerously on its hinges but it miraculously swung back behind the tiger as he stormed toward the youngling. Hunkered at his little make-shift office in one corner of the living room, Swindle continued to ignore the tiger as he readjusted his papers, glancing idly at the wobbly table leg to his left._

_The thug hissed, hackles on edge as he grabbed the back of the devon rex's chair, ripping him away from his laptop as he turned to it next. "Hey!," Swindle shouted indignantly._

" _Hey, you shut up!," Lockdown yelled back, claws digging into the wood backing. "What the frag were you doing at Gator Gate, huh? That place is dangerous!"_

" _Good grief," the youngling scowled, crossing his arms as he bared his fangs in return. "Stop your pissy whining. I was seeing a potential client- or do you not care if we get work or not?"_

_Lockdown was half-tempted to slap that arrogant, lil' cub but he refrained. Barely. "No, you weren't," he corrected, tail thumping against the floor in building rage, "You were seeing Gutcruncher! I'm not as dumb as you think I am!"_

_Swindle sputtered, caught off-guard initially by the revelation but he quickly schooled his face into a sneer; leaning toward the tiger. "What, are you jealous? So, I was seeing Mr. Gutcruncher- he's a very well-rooted businessmech. He's shown interest in my work and he thinks I could be a budding ally to his company. After our lovely lunch together, I think I'll be taking him up on his offer!"_

" _Lu-" The older kittycon paused, finally smelling the faint whiff of high-grade on Swindle's vents. Lockdown growled again, grabbing the youngling's wrist, yanking him to his pedes. "Interest? He's interested in you? Of course he would be interested in a stupid, gullible lil' kitten!," he snarled, standing to full height, forcing Swindle to dance on tip-toe while his wrist was still captured._

" _You've got potential -real talent, kid- but some psycho wines and dines you and suddenly you're tripping over yourself! Gutcruncher ain't someone you can trust!"_

" _S-shut up!," the devon rex yelled, scratching at the larger mech's arm with his free servo. "Y-you aren't my ca-carrier; you can't tell me slag! Besides, what do you know, you smelly aft?!"_

_Optics twitching now, Lockdown clamped down harder on the delicate wrist, gnashing his denta together as he refrained from punching the youngling in the gut. This was one of the many slagging reasons that he hated dealing with sparklings of any kind. "No, you're right," the tiger hissed, ignoring Swindle's yelps and insults as he carried him across the apartment, grabbing his few things awkwardly with his hook and elbow. "Gutcruncher totally isn't bad news. Sure, he totally likes you and isn't just out to use you. I'm sure you won't end up in a ditch somewhere. But since you're so convinced..."_

_Lockdown trailed off momentarily, throwing the front door open once more only to toss the devon rex out the doorway. Swindle hit the opposite wall with a crack; grunting, the youngling slowly pushed himself onto his fours, yelping when the thug threw his things at him._

" _Stop that! You could break it," Swindle shouted, barely catching his laptop. He glared at the silent kittycon standing over him, red optics glaring back. "You big aft! You almost cost me all my data!"_

_The albino merely huffed, shaking his helm. "'Course you care more about your work than your slagging life... Well, I hope you're right about Gutcruncher," the thug said grimly, one servo on the door, "Because I ain't housing someone whose gonna become a liability to my own safety."_

" _Wha? L-lockdown, wa-!"_

_But it was too late. Hall lights flickered as the other mech slammed the door shut, leaving the youngling on the floor, cupping his few prized possessions in disbelief._

" _Y-you... you can't do this!," Swindle yelled, clambering onto his pedes. "We had an agreement; I have keys! I can easily get back in!"_

_He didn't though. A quick pat down notified the kittycon that he had left his keys inside Lockdown's apartment. "Lockdown! Don't be stupid!," the youngling went on, resorting to kicking the door. Anything to get the big idiot to open the door. "You need me! I'm your employer! ...Primus, don't be a slagging crankshaft and let me in! This isn't funny anymore."_

_Still, the door remained firmly in place and there wasn't a single sound to be heard from the other side. After a few kliks, Swindle had no choice but to accept defeat, and the youngling turned away from the door, marching away from the dilapidated building._

_**XxX** _

_For several cycles, it had been quiet. Lockdown was surprised. It may have been a few months, but he'd grown accustomed to having Swindle taking up half of his little apartment. Making notes on his pad, clacking away on the laptop, quietly complaining about the lack of real food and amenities... Now, it was silent and the tiger sat in the dark, nursing a flat beer; not caring to switch a light on without the brat to complain and finding himself unable to help his thoughts from circling back to the cub. He was an arrogant, inexperienced, mouthy little troublemaker who thought he knew better about one of the most dangerous kittycons roaming Cybertron's underside._

_Lockdown was justified in kicking Swindle out before his problems followed him back here. But he was still a cub... If he was so ignorant about Gutcruncher, then how could Swindle possibly defend against the other masters of trade, like traffickers, traders and the pimps?_

'Just let it go, you big moron...,' _Lockdown chastised himself, taking a swig. He was nothing but trouble anyways..._

_The thug gave in with a groan, rising to his pedes slowly, kicking himself as he grabbed his coat and keys. "See what happens when you take in a silver-glossaed youngling?," he grumbled to himself, leaving his building with a quick stride. "You start getting attached and then when they do something stupid, you end up being the idiot who has to look for them in the dark to make sure they don't get hurt! Unicron damn well knows I don't take whores home so why the frag did I bring in a kid?"_

_Complaining to himself wasn't doing an ounce of good. Venting irritably, Lockdown hurried down the dark street, ignoring all the hooligans and prostitutes that occupied the area around him. There was a bar not too far up ahead- he'd taken Swindle to it a few time already, so the staff knew the cub and would let him in. It was a safe bet that the devon rex was there now._

_Shoving through the door, Lockdown was greeted by the usual cloud of smoke and cheap perfume; waving it away with a servo as he shimmied around drunks and pleasure 'bots alike. "Hey!," he hollered over the din to the barkeep, catching the femme's attention, "You seen a runt 'bout yay-high, yellow colouring, toting around a laptop and gigantic, freaky purple optics?"_

" _There be a bunch of freaky looking runts in here," the bartender shot back dully, cleaning out a glass, "Ya expect me to remember them all?"_

_Fishing out a credit note from his inner coat pocket, the tiger slapped it down on the counter top, grimacing. "Yeah," he growled, "I expect ya to do just that."_

_The femme was silent for about half an astrosecond before she glanced around the bar, swiping the note off the counter with her free servo. "Over in the far right," she said, tilting her helm in the fore-mentioned direction, "A youngin' of that description was pulled aside by some 'bots."_

_Cursing, Lockdown hurried to the other side of the bar, growling lowly under his intakes. "Slagging... I told you never to go with a crowd, Swin! Why would you be so stupid as of now...?!"_

" _Hey," said a vocalizer in between the shadows up ahead, "This one just purged."_

_Lockdown turned to the alcove of bench seats set just before the washrooms, feeling a flicker of rage burst into flame. "Huh? So he did...," stated a second vocalizer, dropping into a sickening purr. "Ah, well. Hey, cutie, the party's moving out. How about you come along, hmm? We'll help you clean up."_

" _That won't be necessary," the tiger growled, coming up to the group of several kittycons, not surprised to see a couple of drunken victims in the hold of two mechs, with Swindle seated on the floor at the pedes of a third -the one who had evidently just puked. At the sight of the youngling's hazy optics and unbuttoned shirt, Lockdown bared his fangs, towering closer to the group._

_Three of the strangers beefed up in response, stepping up to block the thug's path. "What's it to you, huh?," growled one._

" _Yeah," a femme hissed, "This one's having fun with us! Find someone else to take home!"_

_The albino snarled back, lashing forward with his hook, cutting one of the 'bots across the face. He screamed as he fell back onto his buddies, clutching his optics as energon ran through his claws._

" _Bastard!"_

" _We'll fragging kill you!"_

" _Piss off!," Lockdown threatened, pulling Swindle's pistol from his pocket as he brandished his wet hook, "Or I'll gut all of ya, like the spineless scum-feeders you are!"_

_Fangs and hackles rose but the strangers slowly shuffled around the tiger, leaving Swindle to hiccup confusedly in his puddle of sick. Spitting at the last tail as it swished out of sight, the kittycon pocketed the gun, heading for the devon rex. "Urgh... ya smell like slag," he muttered, reaching down and picking Swindle up._

_The youngling swayed dangerously on his pedes, stuttering half-formed words, unable to even keep upright. Groaning, Lockdown repositioned his hook, quickly swinging the smaller mech up into the air and catching him smoothly in his arms. "W-woooooah...," Swindle heaved, clutching to the tiger tightly._

" _Careful!," Lockdown hissed, balancing them. "I don't want to stick you with my claw. That'll be more of a mess..."_

_The youngling lolled his helm back, trying to focus on the taller mech with his dazed optics. "L... Lockdown?," he gaped in drunken confusion._

" _Yeah?," the tiger replied, already heading to the door. It was awkward, carrying someone in his arms, but the kittycon managed. He didn't need any skeazeballs trying to make a move should he accidentally drop the youngling._

" _W-what...," Swindle squeezed through a bout of hiccups, "Why you... h-here? Ya... ki-kicked..."_

_For a long while, Lockdown didn't know how to respond. "...'cause I'm an idiot."_

" _H-huh?," the devon rex groaned._

" _Listen," the older mech vented, "You can... I was wrong. Alright? You can come back. But I don't think regular street business is good for you, Swindle. You've got so much potential doing something else."_

_Swindle curled closer, shaking hard, and the thug desperately hoped that the youngling wasn't going to purge again. "W...wha work?," came a meek slur._

" _I... I don't know, kid. We'll figure something out together."_

_It was quiet for some time after that as Lockdown made his way slowly back home; a warm breeze keeping things from being too nippy, When a whisper of his name echoed upwardly, with a yawn alongside it, the tiger looked down again. "Yes?," he said to the one, hazy purple optic looking up at him._

" _T-the... they broke m-my... 'puter...," Swindle murmured mournfully._

_Primus, Lockdown thought, wishing he could tug at his ears. "Yes, Swin. I'll buy you another one," he replied, dutifully ignoring the purr as Swindle curled closer into him._

**xxXxXxx**

It had been a while since he'd been in his familiar haunts. The grungy bar a few blocks down from his raggedy apartment was thriving as it did most Friday nights; 'bots with their pay cheques hurrying in to get themselves a taste of either what the bartender was serving or the whores. Grabbing a seat at the bar, Lockdown felt like he'd truly come home. Iacon was tame when it came to its own city-based debauchery but it still held unique thralls that one couldn't find elsewhere on Cybertron -good business or not.

In a mighty chipper mood, he fished out a heavy credit from inside his jacket, getting himself a glass of the more "vintage" stuff the barkeep had. His work in Helex had proved to be very profitable for the tiger this last quartex.

"Cheers," Lockdown bid the bartender, knocking back his drink as a round of raucous yelling broke over the loud music. Venting in satisfaction, the thug waved for another drink, almost missing the call from behind him.

"I thought I saw your greasy hide crawl back into town!"

Turning around on his stool, the kittycon was caught unaware as a heavy bag was thrown at his helm, fumbling it to the bar top before something smaller, but warmer, was thrust into his free servo. "What the- YOWCH!," the tiger shouted, as said "something" chopped onto his thumb hard.

He onlined his optics to find Swindle smirking at him in amusement, while Wildrider squirmed to climb higher up the thug's frame. "You- You can't bring bornlings into a bar!," Lockdown growled, holding his son out at arm's length. The strange thing just giggled in contentment, wriggling like an eel. "Secondly, you trying to abandon this thing on me?! Take it back!"

"I don't think so," the devon rex continued to smirk, a dangerously (sexy) cruel chuckle bubbling up for a moment. "Now that you're back in town, it's time that you take your son for a weekend while I meet some very important clients. You know, as part of your 'parental duties'. But if you're so dissatisfied with the arrangement, you can always take the matter up with my sire."

The tiger glared at the smug information broker. Swindle knew slagging well that the albino wouldn't willingly go seeking for that insane serval, which meant the tan mech was gonna get what he wanted while Lockdown's good weekend had already turned sour. "I hate you," he hissed, readjusting Wildrider after the bornling managed to somehow slip out of his hold and wriggle up his forearm. Now the crazy thing dangled upside down by one pede.

"Feeling's mutual, be sure of that," Swindle replied flatly, before another misleading smile bloomed across those treacherous lip components. "I'll come collect Wildrider Sunday night, so try not to kill him with your incompetence. By the way, I wouldn't allow him near anything... combustible... if I were you."

"Bye bye!," the information broker sing-songed as he turned around, weaving through the attentive audience Lockdown hadn't realized they'd garnered. He didn't like how some of the gazes gave Swindle a lustful look-over as he exited the bar, but he hated it even more when all those optics turned to him; 'bots smirking and whispering snide jokes behind their servos at his misfortune.

The thug had half a mind to gut the more obnoxious patrons with his hook, when a yelp behind him alerted the kittycon that he had managed to lose hold of his son- _again._ Turning about, Lockdown found the bartender throwing a flaming bottle of high-grade into the sink and dousing it with water, before pointing an accusing finger at the bornling holding a lighter on the counter top. "That little miscreant shoved a flaming napkin in the open bottle!," the femme growled. "You keep that bugger away from my merchandise or I'll have you whipped of every credit you got!"

"Gimme that," Lockdown scowled, snatching the lighter from the bornling. How the slag Wildrider had even got it out of his pocket, the kittycon feared he'd never understand, but suddenly Swindle's teasing warning made a whole lot more sense. "You're going to make me hate my entire life before Sunday," he grumbled to the bornling, poking him lightly with the smooth side of his hook, "Aren't ya?"

Wildrider only gurgled excitedly, teething on the metal.

**xxXxXxx**

_It shouldn't have happened..._

_That's all he could think of now, sitting in the berth, barely covered after last night's activities; Swindle standing across from him, a suitcase of his things in his servos. "Are you listening to me?," the youngling is saying and Lockdown can barely nod, let alone reply. Yeah, he's listening. He heard every word and now he can't help but to feel something akin to regret._

_They'd found the cub something he could do with his certain skill set- got him an investment from a paranoid, old mech with a lot of credit, completed a job and rented an office space in central Iacon with the sudden influx of money. The devon rex was well on his way now to living the good life. They were feeling great, the cub was ecstatic, so Lockdown got some drinks to celebrate. Should of remembered Swindle had almost no tolerance._

_Didn't account for the youngling's shy affection as he drunkenly gave his thanks to the thug. The sudden attraction to those large, purple optics and soft-looking mouth was equally as unexpected._

" _Thank you for your time and for your business, but..."_

_Those optics were looking him point-blank now as the crisp words slowly came out of the same mouth that had pulled him in last night. The tiger still remembered how soft they had been -pressed against his own, trembling with each nip, whispering his name in delicate gasps as he'd pressed the youngling to the floor. The rush from that alone had brought their pedes, stumbling and tripping, to the berth; timid servos wandering, plating curling bravely into the smooth side of his hook. Swindle had never been afraid of his hook since the first orn. Many 'bots could not boast that._

_Now the devon rex stood across the room like a statue, frame held tightly together. Pulling out a cyg-stick, the kittycon tried to give the youngling his full attention. Yet, he remembered vividly how lax that small frame had been beneath him but several cycles ago, legs open and arms draped above his helm. Baring himself before the tiger... A flicker of lust still flared now, as he thought back to the surprising reveal of a seal, wearing with age, but still strong and protective. Snapping it had been a smidge unpleasant to Swindle but it didn't deter either of them, instead spurring them both on as Lockdown cautiously took the youngling. Never thought he could see the brat as something like fragile, but he had, and there was an urge not to break the smaller kittycon even as he blazed with hungry desire._

" _To be frank, this is as far as our mutual agreement can go. I must move on to greener pastures. You understand."_

_The first spark and he drew a lazy puff from the cyg-stick, not responding to the statements being thrown at him in dull, distant fashion. The cub was trying to be tough, Lockdown could see that clearly, but this charade was fooling no one. Covered though they were now, the tiger's marks still remained across purple thighs, probably dark and magenta-coloured from where he'd sucked and nipped at the plating worshippingly. There were a couple that peeked from underneath the youngling's white collar as it was, proving the tiger's theory._

_No manner of masks could erase the devon rex's wide-opticed sincerity and want as he'd writhed under the mech in the dark of night. Overloading... oh, how many times? Lockdown couldn't remember. The piss-poor grade had left everything a haze in his archives, leaving only the lovely glow of those purple optics, whimpers of his name and the delicious scent that he would always know from now on was Swindle's. He'd wanted it... They both had hungered for that moment shared._

" _Goodbye."_

_The words echoed after the youngling had left, the apartment door closing softly behind him. Lockdown didn't move to chase, sitting in the dim morning light, the cyg-stick burning slowly between his two fingers. The drinks had been a mistake. But this was for the best, the thug surmised, climbing out of the berth a couple cycles later. He didn't have time to waste babysitting brats anyhow; now he was a free mech once more._

_No, this was indeed better, he convinced himself, the orn wasting away as he stared into the oddly, empty corner of the living room._

**C.M.D: Aaaaand, this is gonna be the last chapter dedicated to these two. I've kinda stretched it farther than I had intended and now that all the main combaticon/aerialbot stories are done, I can focus on the stuntibabies! Yay!**   
**In the meantime, be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	31. Insectipuma IX

**C.M.D: Well, I've managed to get quite a few chapters done this month while handling other things, so instead of holding them in storage I decided I would go right ahead and post them for you all! Like a token of my love, just in time for Valentine's day~ So, please enjoy all the new updates and I'll see you all again next month!**

**Title: Insectipuma IX**   
**Rating: M**

"I'm sorry to hear what has become of young Shrapnel," Yoketron said on the other line, his optics empathic even though his posture remained business-like. Bombshell didn't bother answering, too busy thumbing through the files that had just been faxed to him. "I've supplied you with all our records on the Insectipuma tribes; I hope that they prove useful for you," the kai ken continued softly, not minding that he was being partially ignored by the other mech. "And Bombshell, please, take some vacation time. It'll serve you better if you were not preoccupied with less important things right now."

The narcotics dealer muttered something like "sure" but said nothing more, and understanding, Yoketron bid farewell to the other mech and cut the line. Hanging up on his end, Bombshell slowly turned and headed away from the hotel's concierge desk, taking the elevator up to his floor. His room was a mess as he entered, littered with empty bottles of high-grade and a couple containers of half-eaten take-out, left to rot as his appetite was quickly lost. It was the sort of chaos that the Insectipuma felt was befitting the circumstances and his thoughts.

What had Shrapnel done to himself...?

Bombshell sat down on his unkempt berth, slowly flipping through the pages Yoketron had sent him, his thoughts on nothing more but his frail prince. Shrapnel went and had an abortion... Shrapnel had been sparked. Why... Why would the cub do that? A brat he may have been, but the youngling was much smarter than that. He should have known better than to put his trust in some nameless "vet" in a back alleyway of the nearest town. The mech stopped to look at a page, optics zooming in on a list of high-ranking offenses and top sins in the Insectipuma tribes. Abortion was fourth, only to murder, promiscuity and blasphemy.

Three of four major sins... Shrapnel had willingly gone against his own code of morality and committed the greatest crimes possible in the tribe. For what purpose? Hadn't getting a heir been the prince's entire goal, his life-long mission? Though the youngling's motives were still lost to Bombshell, suddenly it became clear as to why Shrapnel had paid a stranger to perform the operation. He obviously did not want the tribe knowing about his sparking and a legal clinic would dutifully inform his attendants of what to do during the prince's recovery.

"...stupid brat...," the narcotics dealer hissed softly, his words lacking any real poison or bite.

Shuffling the files together for the time being, Bombshell turned to his room's phone; picking up the handset as he dialed the hospital, hoping that this orn would be the one where he'd be allowed to finally visit the stasis-locked youngling.

**xxXxXxx**

When Shrapnel woke, it was to blinding light. Optics stinging and ears ringing, he offlined them against the painful brightness, slowly onlining them again when everything stopped aching. Visual pixels settling, he found himself in a white room, surrounded on all sides by machines and wires. The prince attempted to move, but he found that he was too weak to do that; everything felt leaden, even the oxygen mask over his mouth was like a rock, keeping him pinned to the mattress. How had he gotten here, he wondered. All he recalled was pain and...

Energon.

He'd been spilling energon, soaking his robes with it, the fluid gushing from between his thighs and onto the floor below. He'd been standing in it, walking in the fluorescent liquid, before the pain had become too much and he'd passed out.

The servants must have called for help, Shrapnel surmised, shuttering his optics tiredly. What must his people of thought, upon seeing so much of his life energy pooling upon his berthroom floor? Surely there must have been something within their history that quoted spilled blood of a royal as a bad omen for the tribe, the youngling believed, but there was nothing he could truly recall at this moment. Venting weakly, the oxygen mask fogging with the action, Shrapnel almost missed the sound of his hospital room door opening. Optics onlining sluggishly, the Insectipuma felt his spark rotate faster when his gaze fell upon Bombshell, pausing in his shuffle across the room.

"...you're awake," the older mech said softly. He looked tired and disheveled, even somewhat angry. The prince tried not to flinch yet one of his connected machines bleeped in similar fashion for him. Shaking his helm, Bombshell continued his path forward, setting the small vase of flowers down on the berthside table.

Shrapnel glanced at them momentarily, recognizing only the Star of Bethlehem, Wisteria and Yarrow flowers amid the other splashes of white and violet in the bouquet. Enough to inform the weak youngling that this was a gift of well wishing. Heat was already glazing over his optics as he turned his gaze back up to the kittycon coming right up to the head of his berth, feeling unworthy of such a charitable present and desperate for Bombshell not to hate him.

"I didn't know when you'd wake again," the narcotics dealer was saying quietly. "You've been in stasis for nearly a decacycle... Why'd you do something so unbelievably stupid for?"

"B-bo; bo...," the youngling choked, struggling again to move. He still couldn't, but he had enough strength to lift an arm half-way; shaking and weaving as it desperately tried to remain aloft, reaching for the other puma. "I-i'm s-sorry; sorry... D-don't; don't... Please, I c-could; could..."

Bombshell did not move to take the prince's shaking servo and that was enough to drive Shrapnel into further frenzy. "P-please; please," he quaked, his vocalizer pitching uncontrollably as the tears welled up in his optics, spilling down his cheeks and over the oxygen mask, "P-please, I-i; i... f-forgive m-me; me! I c-couldn't k-keep; keep... w-was not y-your o-own, a-and knew; knew... i-if it s-stayed, y-you wo-would not f-forgive; give..."

"Pl-please, don't b-be angry; angry... Am s-sorry; sorry!," Shrapnel wheezed, intakes coming in rapid and disjointed bursts, setting his berthside machines to start blaring frantically. His visual pixels were scattering and breaking up in random, sickening patterns; his spark aching deeply in his chestplates, making it hard to see Bombshell even before a slue of nurses came swarming in. "P-please; please... f-forgive me; me...! P-please, I-i know; know... W-wrong; wrong... w-was wrong, B-bombshell; shell... P-please, d-don't go; go...!"

A servo clawed through the wall of attendants surrounding the youngling, but Bombshell had already vanished from the room entirely. Sobbing and choking, Shrapnel was held down against the berth until one of the nurses injected him with a sedative; returning the distraught puma to a land of broken dreams and unrepentant darkness.

**xxXxXxx**

The rest of Shrapnel's hospital stay was spent in and out of consciousness, plagued with painful lucid dreams or the sight of an empty room for most of his waking cycles. Though the staff were helpful and kind, it still did not subtract from the fact that Bombshell had been standing in this very room one orn... and had not been back since. The prince supposedly still had a series of visitors from the tribe and a fresh vase of flowers always replaced the old, as the bouquet began to wither and die, but they were empty replacements. Trapped in his own version of purgatory, Shrapnel wanted nothing more than to die.

Then the vet came and told him he was free to leave.

"You have recovered well, Shrapnel," the autodog informed, smiling kindly. "I know it's going to be hard for a while, and though I don't want to you to give up hope, you should be aware that this may affect your ability to carry in the future. All the same, your frame has made a miraculous pull through and you are free to head back home. If you should want to talk to someone, about your feelings on the abortion, I'll be leaving you with a pamphlet for various therapists in the region. All their contact information is available within."

The vet held up a manila envelope in demonstration. "Some clothes were left by your tribesmech for you to change into, so I'll go and finish filing the paperwork for your release. A chauffeur waits downstairs to take you back."

Seeing that a response was needed, Shrapnel nodded and once the vet had left, he rose slowly and got dressed. It felt like he was drowning when he donned his robes, and the youngling couldn't help but glance frequently down at his abdomen, half convinced that the material would soak again with his energon. But nothing happened and he was fine, so, with no choice left, the Insectipuma grabbed the envelope and headed downstairs to his waiting car.

A chauffeur stood beside a black sedan, saying nothing when the prince approached; keeping silent still as he opened the back door for Shrapnel before taking his place in the driver's seat afterwards. Staring into his lap, the Insectipuma felt as the car rolled away from the hospital and onto the highway to home. For a long while, everything was silent, but as the kliks dragged on, Shrapnel finally lifted his helm up and glanced out the window, realizing that they'd drove past the tribal reserves a few miles back.

"...excuse me; me?," the prince said hoarsely, leaning towards the window dividing driver and passenger, "Where are we going; going? The reserves are back that way; way."

"I've been hired to take you home, sir," the chauffeur answered.

"And where is that; that?," Shrapnel demanded weakly, feeling more annoyed and afraid.

"Iacon city. To the high-rise on Amazon Avenue," the driver kindly supplied.

Sickness overcame the puma then, not enough to make him ill but enough to still leave him feeling weak, as he sank back against the car seat, processor reeling. Shrapnel knew that street well; it was where Bombshell's apartment was located. He was being taken back there? But why? The older mech had made it quite clear numerous times in the past that he wanted nothing to do with the unfaithful youngling. Trying to hold back his tears at the punishment that no doubt awaited, the Insectipuma spent the rest of the trip in silence. The ball of dread sinking deeper in his fuel tanks as the first buildings of Iacon began to poke over the horizon.

**xxXxXxx**

"B-bombshell; shell...?," the meek vocalizer called out, peeking around the apartment door.

It was quiet within, except for the thrumming of the fridge in the living room and a soft vocalizer talking from the t.v in the living room. Cautiously, Shrapnel took a few steps inside, cringing when the front door shut loudly behind him. "Bombshell; shell?," he softly called again, ears flat against his helm as he took another daring couple pedesteps more.

Where was Bombshell? Wasn't he supposed to be waiting for him? If he wasn't, then Shrapnel wanted to be anywhere other than here this very moment. This was essentially trespassing and he didn't want to invoke any additional wrath from the older mech.

There was the sound of the toilet flushing before the washroom door swung open suddenly on the prince's left, startling the poor thing who shook and quaked as Bombshell stepped out of the side room. Red optics stared down in slight surprise before his gaze settled neutrally.

"Shrapnel," said the narcotics dealer.

"B-bombshell; shell," the youngling squeaked, feeling his optics glaze over with coolant. "I-i; I..."

"Are you hungry?," Bombshell asked suddenly, cutting off the other's stuttering. He walked past the stunned Insectipuma, heading for the kitchen. "Chef made a few dishes today. Slow-roasted petrorabbit, bolts and nuts cheesy ravioli, I think we even have some steamed fish..."

The larger mech paused at the fridge, looking back at Shrapnel. "Well?"

"I-i; I...," the prince nervously replied, licking quickly at his suddenly dry lip components, "I-i am not hungry; gry..." It wasn't entirely untrue. Though the idea of a good meal would have enticed him a couple cycles before, Shrapnel suddenly could not even stomach the thought of food now. Why was Bombshell tormenting him with casual conversation and not addressing the heart of the real matter?

"... Well, I'm hungry," the narcotics dealer continued, opening the fridge, "So I'm going to eat. Why don't you go sit in the living room in the meantime?"

Torn, Shrapnel decided to comply with Bombshell's suggestion, hoping that his obedience would save him from any screaming. The youngling was surprised when he circled around the kitchen and found the coffee table covered from either end with food; only enough space left so two individual plates could sit comfortably on the glass with the accompanying silverware and wine glasses.

"Have a seat," came the older Insectipuma's vocalizer from behind him. Jumping, the prince faced his mate, his optics catching the bottle of red wine that was held in the other's servo. Bombshell snorted softly at the other's line of sight, gently pushing Shrapnel forward. "C'mon, have a bite. You've been on the road for almost half a day and I know for a fact you haven't eaten since leaving the hospital. Don't be stubborn."

Shrapnel allowed himself to be seated at one end of the coffee table without a word, looking about awkwardly as Bombshell uncorked the wine and poured each of them a glass; finally sitting himself on the opposite end and beginning to dish out food. When the smaller puma didn't take a bite in the next few kliks, Bombshell set down his own utensils and fixed the other with a look.

"What's wrong?"

The youngling flinched and violet optics welled with tears. "Y-you haven't; haven't...," Shrapnel choked softly, trying to speak through his aching spark, "W-what I d-did; did... T-that orn at the hospital; tal..."

Bombshell took a drink, gently setting his glass down. "Listen...," he said quietly, "That's neither here nor there. Do I think you're a complete idiot for going to some stranger for a life-threatening abortion? Yes, I do... But, and I'm guessing you're unaware, tonight is our one year anniversary. Surprise."

That, more than the narcotics dealer casual dismissal of his abortion, was enough to leave the smaller Insectipuma stunned. He shuttered his optics, still processing what had just been said, before he jumped to his pedes, shaking from top to bottom. "N-no; no!," he cried, staring down upon the curious-looking mech. "No, I shall not; not... I w-want no part in this; this! You are toying with me and I refuse to participate; pate! Either p-punish me for t-the sins I have made o-or cast me aside; side... I d-don't want your lies o-on top of e-everything else; else!"

"Shrapnel...," Bombshell replied neutrally.

"NO; no! Y-you have not forgiven m-me for m-my tryst with Kickback, and I-i; I..." The prince trailed off as his intakes began to wheeze, tears spilling down his cheekplates thickly, unable to find the words to describe everything that he felt. The shame in his ability to involve himself sexually with more than one mech, the terror he felt at losing Bombshell's favor, the anger that his supposed mate could treat him as if he was so disposable, the grief at the treason he had made against the Gods and himself... The unbearable sorrow of the young life he had cruelly cut away and the likelihood that he would never be able to carry again...

Rough servos were cupping his face, turning his gaze upwards to face the silent Insectipuma staring back down upon him. "Come with me," was all Bombshell mumbled, before he lead the weeping youngling to the room. Tears faltering for a moment as the door was open, Shrapnel stared uncomprehending how his royal suite back in the tribes had made its way to Bombshell's berthroom.

"W-why; why...?"

Bombshell closed the door behind them as he took a step forward. "Allow me to inform you of something," he began, starting to strip off his clothes. Shrapnel took a step away from the vendor with each article removed, and Bombshell moved forward with each step that the youngling took. "You are my bondmate. That has been witnessed before your people and Gods. And nothing -I mean nothing- short of death itself will remove me from the position of your husband."

Backstruts meeting one of the wooden poles of the berth, the prince trembled, chin tipped all the way back as he stared up at the mech looming over him -now naked. Red optics dimmed, large claws stroking from Shrapnel's forehead and down his crown, sweeping back up under his chin and over gently parted lip components. "I have... been ignorant," the older Insectipuma reluctantly admitted, "And I insulted you with my error. If it had been anyone else, I would have forgotten you the moment you ran back to your tribe; I probably could have overlooked your affair with Kickback. After all, I have an incriminating past of my own... But because it was you, I cannot nor will not let you go. Even if you still loved your cousin, we are mates... And that's the way I want it to stay."

The smaller puma shivered again, hiccuping as he slowly absorbed Bombshell's confession. "B-but, I;i... My w-womb; womb..."

Bombshell picked the unsuspecting Shrapnel up and carried him onto the mattress, slowly peeling away the other's clothes. "I don't care what the vets said," he informed, grabbing a servo and nipping lightly at the youngling's slender fingers. "Your recovery has gone exceptionally well, meaning that your tanks are strong again. And if they are strong, they can carry; I will make sure of that."

Before the prince could reply, the narcotics dealer was kissing him, one servo cupping the back of the smaller mech's helm so as to keep him close. Only when Shrapnel started to become winded did Bombshell release him again, gently but quickly removing the rest of the other's clothing until both pumas lay naked before each other. Unsheathing his spike, Bombshell waited and watched, curious to know what the youngling's response would be.

Shrapnel himself was at a loss. Bombshell had not forgiven him per say, but his confession had acknowledged that they both had made mistakes and no one was truly to blame for what had transpired over the last half of this stellar cycle. Even then, he was still announcing claim over the prince and the desire to have him, yet, was that truly a good thing? Was that symbolic of love... or just possession? Conflicted, and just a little afraid, the prince finally retracted his own plating, shivering at the sudden drop of temperature the action invoked.

He was still afraid... and of him, the kittycon noted. This was not good. Bombshell wasn't especially great at words himself but he'd hoped his actions thus far had been enough to show the timid heir that he was not hated, yet it seemed Shrapnel still did not notice or believe any of that. Licking two of his fingers, the older puma carefully set to massaging the tight valve, pondering on how he could best demonstrate to the other that he wasn't simply being used as a frag toy. He brooded and contemplated, until an idea came to him, just about the same time that Shrapnel's valve finally relaxed and the little prince began to mewl wantonly.

Adding a third finger, Bombshell continued his attentive ministrations. "I'm going to show you something, my prince," he tenderly told the slowly writhing youngling. "Something I'm sure you've never known before."

Gorgeous, violet optics hesitantly shuttered open up at him, catching the larger Insectipuma's smirk, before the mech descended on the royal; planting sweet kisses and nips across his frame, while his fingers continued to gently rub and stretch the lubricating valve, heading further south. "B-bombshell; shell...?," Shrapnel stuttered uncertainly, before a gasp was ripped from his vocalizer and his servos were clamping tightly down upon the other puma's helm.

What was this sensation?! "Bombshell; shell!," the prince shrieked again, bucking and squirming, little claws trying to push the kittycon's helm away. Bombshell could not be removed though and the twisting, curling glossa continued to wriggle in Shrapnel's valve, causing his frame to jolt with pleasant little tingles with every lap and suck. Keening, the youngling thrust his hips forward erratically, overwhelmed by the unexpected pleasure. He had never known such an act could be done upon his valve and though it worried him, the results were beyond euphoric!

He could feel his walls clench sporadically, inadvertently causing the glossa to stroke across sensor nodes deep within him; his valve quickly filling with lubricants as it tried to draw the wriggling appendage deeper. More and more, Shrapnel wanted, and as he heard Bombshell loudly feast upon him, the prince got what he requested -crashing into overload with a squeal and a wild buck up into the older mech's mouth.

Languidly licking the calming valve, Bombshell withdrew, kissing a path back up to the youngling's mouth and capturing it in a pressing kiss. As he aligned himself for entry, he stroked Shrapnel's cheekplates, waiting until the violet optics were looking up at him. "I'm going to take you now," the narcotics dealer informed, tip of his spike already pressing on the other's valve lip, "I ask now, will you allow me to your spark?"

Shrapnel visibly stiffened, moaning an astrosecond after as the kittycon slowly slid in. Whether or not the prince would grant him entrance, Bombshell would still complete this union with his fragile royal. But secretly, he hoped that the other would let him in. Then suddenly, brilliant light pierced the dimness as lines drew across Shrapnel's chestplates; peeling back, the light cascading, showcasing the impossible orb of pink light rotating in the vivid space of the youngling's frame.

The kittycon was struck into dumbfounded astonishment as he stared at Shrapnel's entire essence, completely overwhelmed by its beauty. Never had he seen a more gorgeous sight in all his stellar cycles, not even when he glimpsed the hundreds of sparks he lent a servo in slaughtering during the war and even afterwards. Trying to see past its shimmering light to the heir beneath, Bombshell was alarmed to see that Shrapnel had twisted his helm away from the narcotics dealer; worse yet, his optics were offlined and tears could be seen sparkling along the edges.

If there was hesitance in him, it was gone now. Bombshell retracted his own spark, shivering as fresh air swirled around his heated internals, circling the suspended orb. The exposure was frightening, even to himself, and he felt a moment's doubt as if this was the right course of action. Looking down upon the trembling youngling was all that the puma needed as incentive. Slowly, he leaned closer, thrusting shallowly to cut the jolt as their two sparks finally met; electric fire flashing across their neural nets and drawing a choking gasp from both mechs.

It was hot and cold, and a storm upon a calm sea, upending over itself and encircling a million scattered shards, pulling everything together. Memories and thoughts pooled, chaotic in their never-ending shifting and flashing, leaving either at a loss for what was their own and what did not belong to them. Pushing through a wall of such crippling recollections, Bombshell struggled to hold onto his own awareness, even as he felt his entire frame weaken with the continued merging of their two sparks. There was fear and grief and a desperate need to feel wanted that slapped him across the face -feelings that weren't his own, being chased down by a rage and the terrorization of loss that did belong to him. Holding onto the concept of "HIM", the kittycon readjusted his position, easing into rhythmic motion again.

_Mine_ , he sent back through the burning connection between himself and Shrapnel, _Mine. My mate, my trouble, my processor ache, my joy, my one and only. Mine to cherish, and protect, and care for, and hold. Mine alone and only willing to be yours._

Darkness and pain were receding away from the bond as their sparks flared brighter, circling tighter as the energy between them began to grow; the narcotics dealer's careful thrusts becoming sporadic as he felt the irrepressible desire to take and claim and leave his mark within the youngling beneath. Pressed tightly together, chestplates grinding as the orbs within roiled and bounced in the combined haven, the Insectipuma rushed towards his own overload, hardly aware of the claws scratching down his shoulders as he neared completion.

Someone cried out -or maybe it was two voices, one soft and one rough, twined together?- as light exploded, carrying Bombshell into oblivion and absence of self. Collapsing, frame weak, the mech shifted, burying his olfactory sensor into the warm, succulent space just beneath his chin; taking a few kliks to grasp at reality again, breathing in the delicious scent he was privy to at that very moment. Beneath the larger kittycon, Shrapnel onlined his optics, recollecting himself long before Bombshell did.

He stared, shivering and a little bit sore, up at the canopy above, still all up in a whirl. His spark had pulled itself away from the other mech's, but still it brushed warmly against the second orb as it bobbed in place; sated and calm and safe. What had happened...? Had... had Bombshell really shared with the prince the most sacred and intimate of affairs? So destructive and revered that not even many of the tribes partook in such a self-stripping act?

Thoughts and sensations registered in Shrapnel's helm and he knew for a fact that none of these strange things belonged to him. So, it was true than... Bombshell had asked, and he had shown, and in return the older mech had shared his own spark. Together, they had united, burning as one even as the narcotics dealer had fought to keep his self, all to announce his station with the heir. Not over, no... but equal. The same.

Wanted and kept and distraught and unsettled by the other's absence.

Feeling the larger puma shift, Shrapnel quickly withdrew his servos, dropping them to the mattress as he felt a flicker of fear despite himself. Bombshell stiffened in turn, pushing himself up and glancing down on the youngling. He said nothing as he closed his chestplates, and did not comment on it when Shrapnel did the same.

Eventually the kittycon grumbled out, "...I'm going to recharge now," he informed, rolling to the side and shifting about until he was comfortable. He offlined his optics as he laid out on the mountain of pillows and said nothing more after that.

The youngling didn't know what to do. Already he missed the heat and closeness of not only Bombshell but his spark as well, and he was at a loss on what course of action to take now despite the tugging of his spark. Would it be wrong to curl up to the narcotics dealer after the amazing moment they had shared? Were they lovers now or just mates of convenience as before?

"...get over here and lay with me, Shrapnel," Bombshell mumbled, one optic onlining in a sliver to stare at the Insectipuma. "It's customary to recharge close to your mate after connecting."

Flinching in surprise, Shrapnel quickly crawled over, sitting awkwardly at the larger mech's side until he was yanked down by one of the kittycon's strong arms. Staring up at Bombshell from his chestplates, the prince watched as the vendor turned his attention to his watcher, scratching behind a silver-tipped ear. "I meant what I shared," the narcotics dealer said softly, "I don't care any more about what transpired between Kickback and you -you are the only thing that matters to me and I won't risk losing you. You are mine, just as I am yours, if you want it that way. And, of course, I will give you your heir, and this time, to keep."

"...Well, my prince?"

Tears were welling up in his optics again and Shrapnel did not fret over them this time. "Y-you're; you're...," he stuttered, trying to speak firm despite his clenching neck cables, "Y-you are a big, s-stupid, hot-dog smelling m-moron a-and I d-demand that you n-never leave m-me again; again!"

Bombshell shuttered his optics before chortling quietly at the typical high-and-mighty response, squeezing the prince's aft in return. "I won't," he swore, settling comfortably, making sure that Shrapnel was equally as such, "You're the first person I can actually say that I both love and want to frag. Even if you are a brat."

"H-heretic; tic...," came the half-hearted insult.

"Goodnight, my prince," the older puma replied, kissing an ear. "See you in the morning." Helm resting still on Bombshell's chestplates, Shrapnel absorbed the promise, feeling a hopeful smile slowly bloom across his lip components. Servos curled on his mate's torso and one leg hooking over the kittycon's, the youngling finally allowed himself to drift off to sleep; spark rotating peacefully in his chestplates, still fuzzy with the new connection setting in.

**C.M.D: Some sweety, sappy romance (with a start of angst) to finish off the string of updates and this arc too! What a shame... Meh, maybe I'll use these two in other fics. Anyways, hope you all enjoyed and I'll see you next month!**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	32. Rodimus II

**C.M.D: After getting really, badly sick for nearly a month and taking just as long to recover, it's been nice to get back to my writing though I wish I'd been able to muster up more chapters. All the same, please enjoy and hopefully I'll see you all next month with even more updates!**

**Title: Rodimus II  
Rating: M**

It was deja vu all over again.

Deja vu- that was the word, wasn't it? When you'd already been through the same situation but it all felt new? Honestly, Blackout didn't know. What he did know was that he was crouching once more at Rodimus' berthside, gently stroking fiery tail and ears, while the autodog slept unknowingly. The kittycon hadn't thought he'd ever get a chance to do this again, but it wasn't under the most favourable of circumstances.

True, it was Rodimus that had let him in (that was a good sign, wasn't it?); all the same, the lawyer had been distant and withdrawn from the moment he had opened the door, even as he curled into the awkward panther's side. The two of them sitting on the couch as the evening wore on, nothing breaking the tense silence as the cycles passed by quickly, until Rodimus had finally succumbed to recharge and Blackout was free to carry him to his berth.

And now the kittycon sat, rays of approaching dawn peeking through the gaps in the blinds, keeping quiet vigil over the sparked mech and tenderly petting his fur. Primus, he was an idiot... Blackout grunted softly to himself, reluctant to move even if it was the truth. Yes, he was a big idiot. The last time this same night happened, the thug found himself obsessed with the golden retriever and aggravated by the revelation that Rodimus was still hung up over someone else. At least now Blackout had a fighting chance, but at what cost?

All his tricks had still turned Rodimus towards Ultra Magnus, and in the end, the younger autodog had lost the most. Now the sparked mech was hurting... Blackout didn't know if his second attempts were a help or a hindrance to the lawyer's state, but he desperately wished he was having a good effect on the other.

It was a strange feeling to be in love...

Venting again, the panther rested his helm on the berth, staring into the slumbering Rodimus' face as the larger mech continued to regret and hope.

**xxXxXxx**

He decided not to ever mention the fact that he'd allowed Blackout to spend the night. It was a grievous error on his part, Rodimus knew, but after finding not even a button out of place the following morning, the autodog was willing to act in good faith and believe the kittycon had not attempted anything. It helped that Blackout had made himself scarce before Rodimus had awoken.

Still, there was an anxious squirming in his fuel tanks, that was not the cause of the little one, and the golden retriever didn't like it. When had he decided he could trust the panther, even marginally? Well, no matter, Rodimus decided as he peeled an onion. He would shut down all communications with the thug, return to ignoring him and donating or throwing away Blackout's "gifts". The lawyer wouldn't allow the kittycon to think he could get any closer to him.

The ringing of the phone caught Rodimus by surprise. Waddling, he shuffled across the kitchen, picking up the receiver before the machine could kick in. "Hello?," he greeted.

Only silence met him on the other line. The autodog shuttered his optics in puzzlement, checking that the base was receiving a signal, but it was fine. So why couldn't he hear anything? "Hello? Listen, I think-," before Rodimus was able to finish, the line went dead; dial tone beeping loudly in his audio.

Scowling, the golden retriever hung up, shaking the last of the annoying sound from his helm. Well, that was weird. Was it a wrong number? A company fax line? The sparked mech figured he could solve the mysterious call later. Right now there was a juicy onion calling to him with a tempting bottle of chocolate sauce right next to it. Delicious!

**xxXxXxx**

Rodimus had to do a double-take.

"Excuse me?," he finally managed after a klik, looking away from the roses and up at the kittycon sourly. Blackout pushed off from the wall he was leaning against, shuffling in place awkwardly as he retracted the bouquet he had thrust in the autodog's face upon opening the door.

"...what? You allergic to them?," the thug asked, embarrassed.

_He_ was embarrassed? The giant, looming idiot?! Just the fact alone was mind-blowing to Rodimus. "They... They're roses, moron," the golden retriever replied, shaking his momentary stupor off. "Do you even know what that means?!"

Blackout looked at the flowers in sincere confusion. "No," he answered. "The lady at the shop said some greenery would brighten up your place. She said I should get these when I told her you were sparked."

It was so hard not to groan at the panther's idiocy, but really, it was all Rodimus' own fault. He should have kept his guard up from the beginning; now Blackout thought it was fine to get chummy with the lawyer who'd been so lax at keeping a distance between them. So much for cutting the thug from his life...

"Maybe I should have gotten the white, frilly ones...," Blackout was mumbling aloud in regret, picking at a rose bud.

"Oh, just gimme that!," Rodimus scowled, roughly grabbing the bouquet from the kittycon's surprised claws. "No more flowers, got it?,"the autodog demanded, glaring at the other mech, daring him to defy the order. Blackout only purred though, nodding his helm in acknowledgement.

"Got it," he replied.

Scowling deeper, Rodimus hurried back into his apartment to put the roses in some water. The door, unfortunately, closed before Blackout could follow. "...um, can I come in?," the panther called out. A distant 'no' called back to him. Ah, well, the thug shrugged. Rodimus had taken the flowers; he liked them. That was good. In merry spirits, the kittycon turned about and headed back out of the apartment building.

**xxXxXxx**

He knew he shouldn't have been bothering Rodimus, but every orn the golden retriever got only bigger, to the point that Blackout wondered if a single touch would cause the sparked mech to pop like a swollen balloon this close to the end of his carrying. It was a curiosity that transformed into a worry, and thus the panther was loathe to be away from the autodog's presence longer than he needed. Maybe he could convince Rodimus to let him crash on his couch for a few orns? Blackout shook his helm as soon as he thought that.

There was no way that the lawyer would let the thug stay overnight. It was already a miracle that he'd put up with the kittycon being in his apartment for a short cycle or two. Frowning, and wishing Rodimus would finally trust the kittycon, the mech decided to just shove those problems aside as he came to a stop outside the golden retriever's door. At least the autodog never turned him away when he had food.

Beaming to himself proudly, Blackout raised a servo to knock, pausing an astrosecond after when he realized that there were scratch marks all over the door and even the brass numbers were hanging loosely from their screws. Had someone tried to break the door down? Instantly, confusion turned to concern and the panther hammered on the door loudly when trying the knob had revealed it still held firmly.

"Rodimus? Hot Rod?!," he yelled out, hearing nothing between his heavy knocks, "Roddy, you in there?!"

Fear was seeping into his neural net, mixing in with the worry and blending with a sudden spike of rage. Someone had -or was- hurting his autodog. The need to confirm Rodimus' well being and destroy his assailant were hard urges for the kittycon to shake off, so much so that he almost broke the door rushing forwards the moment it opened a crack unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he'd plowed forward, Blackout stumbled to a stop, optics focused unseeingly on the mech collapsed next to his pedes, while his olfactory sensors flared at the swirl of scents that slapped him across the face.

Heat...

This was a heat scent!

Yet... yet it was different. Thicker. Sweeter. Clouting the very air with its intoxicating aroma like a heavy miasma. Swaying for a moment, the brown mech hurried to steady himself against the wall, shuttering his optics a few times before he really took notice of Rodimus still laying sprawled out on the floor. The golden retriever stared back, chestplates heaving as he cycled intakes rapidly and entire frame flush with a layer of condensation. A glance downwards revealed the pool of lubricants glistening between two shaking thighs.

"I-i...," Blackout stuttered, trying to feel for the open doorway behind himself, even as he fought to remain from jumping the lawyer. Against the powerful smell, it was a miracle he could stand; the pressure of his spike straining behind his codpiece the kittycon's only reminding force of reality. If he gave in now... All the thug would accomplish would be hurting the autodog, and that was the last thing Blackout ever wanted to do to Rodimus again. "I... gotta leave..."

Oh, but that _scent_...

Before he'd even taken a step back, two servos had clenched the fabric of his jeans, Rodimus weakly tugging in protest as his mouth formed a string of disjointed, silent words. A keen escaping and one glance out the door showed the panther he would not be escaping. Doors were opening and he was certain that any whom had caught whiff of the alluring scent before would be coming out now that the source was stronger. Fighting with his unease at the situation, Blackout shuffled inside as best he could without tripping over the golden retriever, shutting the door behind himself and locking it firmly.

"I... I don't know what to do...," the larger mech said lowly, feeling his sanity unravel now that he was trapped with no ventilation from the heat scent. It called for him to claim the smaller 'bot; flip him on his knees and smother the slender frame until every inch of Rodimus' was marked by him, as primal desire urged. "Roddy, you... you'll be angry once this passes..."

"P-please," the autodog gasped weakly, giving another short tug. He still had not risen from the floor and it took Blackout's help to even bring the sparked mech to stand once pulled to his pedes. Blue optics were dim as they begged the kittycon silently, making Blackout flinch at his crumbling resolve.

Oh, how he wished to just slam the lawyer to the floor, spike him deeply and fill his reproductive tanks with his own offspring... But Rodimus was already carrying. And it was Ultra Magnus' sparkling. Plus, the golden retriever had made it clear he did not want the kittycon in that capacity. Yet, the longer those pained optics glowed up at him, the weaker Blackout felt. He couldn't bring himself to say no a third time, not when it meant breaking this fragile creature's tender spark.

Carefully, but with a speed that belied his earlier hesitation, the thug lifted Rodimus up into his arms, hurrying for the berthroom. The scent was strongest in here; tangled sheets soaked with enriched lubricant and other tell-tale droplets spread about the floor within the vicinity. Claws tightening around the burning mech, Blackout quickly laid the autodog on the berth, drawing back when Rodimus lashed up towards him.

" _Blackout_ ," the other mech cycled his name in want, crooked fingers grabbing his leather coat now.

The panther swallowed uneasily, peeling the servos off and pressing the lawyer to the mattress slowly. Immediately, Rodimus went lax in submission, legs spreading and optics shuttering with relief. Blackout trembled for a moment, a response that was unusual for himself, but he couldn't help it. This entire situation was more than he'd ever handled and the kittycon could not bear the fear that settled so firmly in his joints. He couldn't spike Rodimus, he just couldn't...

A whimper, in pain and impatience, escaped the autodog as dim optics flared back to life; slender wrists tugging in the thug's hold as their owner struggled to buck his heavy frame towards Blackout. He was going to regret this, the panther was certain, but the heat scent was getting stronger and he felt his own circuits hum with the desire to claim this gorgeous mech. Throwing caution to the wind finally, Blackout scooted down the berth, grabbing hold of Rodimus' spread thighs and diving between them. His glossa lashed out at the already exposed and dripping valve, eliciting a yearning shriek from the golden retriever and a deep growl from within his own chestplates.

Blackout had not expected the rich, succulent taste that erupted across his sensors, nor the undeniable hunger that overtook him as he pressed closer for more. Snarling lustfully between gulping mouthfuls, the kittycon quickly devoured the gush of lubricant spilling out to meet his unquenchable feeding frenzy; delicate hips wriggling wildly in his servos as the autodog beneath rocked up to meet him with equal intensity. In what may have been kliks, or cycles, the cacophony of warbled cries and lustful howls to the ceiling above came to a choking halt as his willing victim twisted in one last, desperate motion, filling the panther's mouth with his spoils.

Purring, the thug sealed his lip components tightly to the plating, lapping at the silken folds until the delicious river had run dry and the panting vents of his companion had eased into the soft intakes of the recharging. Pulling back only confirmed what Blackout hazily noted had taken place, but did not erase the scent that still lingered heavily around the room or in his olfactory sensors, nor did it ease the agonizing pressure of his spike longing to be released. A part of him wanted to roll the autodog over and claim him as was his right... yet, Blackout knew that was wrong, even without needing to see the peaceful face of a sated Rodimus.

The taste he'd been given -though made in a frazzled state and one Rodimus would surely punish him for later- was enough for the kittycon. It had been a long time since he'd last been intimate with the golden retriever and despite common sense, Blackout knew he'd treasure this little moment that had transpired and would take no more than what was offered to him in the first place. Wiping the rest of the lubricant from his chin, the panther fetched a clean blanket from the closet, draping it gently over Rodimus' frame before quietly leaving the apartment.

The lawyer would want his space upon waking and the thug himself needed a bit of private time to release his own pent-up energy.

**xxXxXxx**

Another orn, another heat flash. Rodimus shuffled to a stop for a moment in the aisle, venting weakly as it felt like the temperature skyrocketed. Which was stupid of course, because the mech had picked this specific grocery store due to it having the coldest air conditioning, yet here he was again, melting in his plating. Primus, how he hated this. As if on cue, a wave of dizziness hit Rodimus and he was forced to lean against a nearby shelf as vertigo dipped.

Yep. Definitely hated this. "C'mon," the autodog murmured weakly to his belly, "Can't you just let me go for a walk, without pain, nausea or the light-headedness? You're coming out soon..."

Not soon enough though. Rodimus sighed as he recalled his last visit to the vet. Healthy and kicking... but late an orn. The vet had not been concerned. "It's common from time to time," he'd explained to the startled lawyer, "For a sparkling to protoform later than expected. There's no risk to carrying for a little while longer either and no harm in waiting to intervene. For now, we'll continue to monitor you and your bornling's status every few orns, and if no more changes occur in a couple weeks, we'll simply assist the bornling in coming out."

That was good and all that the science didn't list any risk in a late-protoformed bornling but Rodimus didn't care for that. What he cared about was that this entire experience had been nightmarish... He simply wanted his sparkling out so he could return to feeling somewhat normal. And preferably not roasting every few kliks from a sparked frame. The dizziness passing, the golden retriever slowly pushed himself upright, sighing when it put him directly under an air vent blowing blessedly frigid air down on top of him.

He'd have to move, he knew (to finish his shopping before his next appointment at the vet's office) but for now, Rodimus was going to enjoy this. His enjoyment must have been absolute though, because it took the mech a full klik to notice the cold trickling down his thigh; one glance down and he had a moment to see that he'd apparently wet himself before sudden pain rippled out from his abandon. Not just any fluid, the autodog realized with a keen, collapsing against the shelf again at another contraction.

He was in labor! The bornling was coming!

A couple of nearby customers jumped when the golden retriever hit a lineup of pickle jars, one 'bot running off for help while a femme dragged her small sparkling over in concern. "Are you okay?," she asked worriedly.

"C-contraction," was all Rodimus could grit out before his words were silenced by a whimper.

The femme was at least quick. "Labor!? You're in labor!," she exclaimed loudly, turning her helm about wildly. "We need a doctor! An ambulance! You must get to a hospital right away!"

He knew that. The autodog would very much like to be in an ambulance, rushing to a hospital and kliks away from getting a good dose of painkiller for the pain. The fact was that he wasn't moving anywhere, though, not with the labor pains rising higher and his sparkling kicking wildly along side it all. Realizing that only made the lawyer whimper harder.

"Hey, what-? Here, I got ya!," said a familiar vocalizer, before gravity shifted and Rodimus found himself staring up at the ceiling. Not too far out of view, a big, squashed-like face with two beady optics looked down on him. "Roddy? What's happening?"

"He's in labor!," the femme repeated, from the side. "He needs a hospital and a vet immediately."

"Lab-," Blackout mumbled, tiny optics almost dancing in their large sockets as he finally got it, "He's having the bornling! O-oh... oh, okay... Sl-slag, um, hospital! I'll g-get him there!"

Pulling the quaking golden retriever closer, the panther made sure he was tucked in place safely before he started jogging down the aisle, heading for the store's automatic doors. Rodimus couldn't even utter a complaint to the thug's intervention, too overcome with pain. With nothing left to do but trust Blackout, the autodog only clutched a weak servoful of leather coat, curling a few inches into the other mech's chestplates as the contractions continued to increase in intensity.

**xxXxXxx**

"Help! I need help!," he yelled, nearly crashing through the automatic doors when they did not open fast enough for him. 'Bots of all types jumped in fright at Blackout's loud entrance, nurses freezing behind the receiving desk as they looked the towering kittycon over. Ignorant to their wary fidgeting, Blackout stomped closer to the desk, lowering Rodimus down as far as he dared.

"H-he's having a b-bornling! No-now! Someone's gotta help him!," the thug insisted desperately.

At the sight of the whimpering autodog, the nurses immediately burst into a flurry of action. A few came around the desk to check on Rodimus, one grabbed a wheelchair from a nearby nook and dashed over with it; one nurse picked up the phone and started relaying hurried, but concise instructions to the 'bot on the other end, and one last nurse scrambled to gather admittance forms onto a clipboard.

"Alright, we need you to lower him into the wheelchair, please," one nurse said to Blackout.

"It's okay, we've got him," another piped in at the kittycon's hesitation. "Everyone, assist."

"B-but-," Blackout tried to protest. The nurses though would have none of it. Their servos grabbed Rodimus gently at different points, sliding him from the panther's slacken grip and expertly moving him into the wheelchair without any injury. "H-hey, you're hurting him!," the thug almost snarled when the golden retriever gave a high-pitched yelp.

"That was just a contraction," a third nurse spoke up, servos lifted soothingly towards the large mech as the others hurried to wheel the lawyer away. "A change of position can cause them to become more aggravated, but he'll feel a bit better once we get him to the birthing suite."

"Come," said the nurse with the clipboard then, one servo tugging on Blackout's arm to cajole him into moving, "You can follow along and fill out these forms for him in the meantime. You're the sire, yes?"

The panther took an awkward step back, almost sending the poor nurse to the floor, his fuel tanks roiling with this sickening, cold weight that had crept up unexpectedly. "N-no... I, uh," he mumbled uncharacteristically, licking at his lip components as the hospital staff stared at him in puzzlement, "No, I'm... I'm not. I j-just... I was just h-helping out..."

That's right. The bornling wasn't his.

Rodimus had told him hundreds of times.

"Oh," was all the nurses said. Instantly, they turned their backs on Blackout, talking among themselves as they ignored the kittycon. The strange weight in his tanks seemed to sink deeper and the mech felt he would topple over at any klik from the sheer strength of it alone. He should leave, the panther thought. He didn't belong here anyhow. Ears flat against his helm, the thug turned away from the unmindful nurses; heading back out the automatic doors and who knew where.

**C.M.D: Next update- the angst begins!**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	33. Rodimus III

**C.M.D: Well it is... late. At least four days later than I usually update. I had a few chapters in the works this month, but at the time of update period, they hadn't been finished. Well, they're finished now and seeing as they're... not... happy... I figure updating later is better than updating next month and depressing my audience of readers right before Christmas. So, please, enjoy this and the extra chapters!**

**Title: Rodimus III**  
**Rating: T**

It was late in the night.

A weary glance at the clock set on the wall across the room, let the golden retriever know that it was well past midnight. Just knowing the time made him vastly aware of how exhausted he was and yet Rodimus couldn't move. Moving meant jostling the tiny bundle in his arms and the autodog just couldn't bear to upset or relinquish this tiny miracle.

And what a miracle the little bornling was. All the pain, all the fears and doubts that had swelled as he faced that critical moment alone in the birthing suite -all of it had vanished the instant he heard the mechling's wailing cry, overcome with spark-aching love for the tiny pup as he was set in his servos for the first time. Intakes hitching again as he recalled this, Rodimus peered at the small face of his son. In the dark, it was nearly hard to make out most of the bornling's features, the exception being his chubby, red cheekplates that made up the majority of his face. Amazed by their size, the lawyer gently stroked down his yellow and blue helm, poking at the soft plating. A small smile quirked on the mech's face at the sensation. It was like pressing on a marshmallow!

The tiny autodog wrinkled his olfactory sensor as Rodimus pressed gently on his cheekplate again; his impossibly small glossa peeking out from his mouth momentarily. Lifting the bornling up higher, the golden retriever placed a soft kiss to his forehelm, nuzzling the mechling as he deeply inhaled his unique scent. "What to name you...?," the red mech mumbled, optics never leaving his son.

For one, odd klik, the autodog thought back on his own creators and his blurry memory of their image. The bornling had a lot of the vibrant yellow colouring that his sire once had, even if the blue (so reminiscent of Ultra Magnus) covered a sizeable amount of his frame as well. What would they say, if they could have been with him here now...?

It was a long wait before Rodimus finally broke from his daze, gracing his son with an adoring smile. "I think I'll name you Hot Shot," he whispered.

Deep in recharge, the newly-christened Hot Shot smiled.

**xxXxXxx**

A few orns after Hot Shot's birth, Rodimus was discharged from the hospital. Having not had his overnight bag with him at the time he had gone into labour, the only possessions that the autodog took with him as he left were the dirty clothes he had on that orn and the very precious bornling in his arms. If he had being paying attention, Rodimus would have noticed the number of judgmental stares as he headed back to his apartment in an outfit much too baggy now for his thin frame. Of course, he had seen none of this, nor would he have cared about any of it in the end.

The only thing that mattered was the glittering universe he saw when he gazed into those crystal blue optics.

"Welcome home, Hot Shot," he announced, stepping through the doorway of his apartment. The lawyer barely remembered to shut and lock the door behind him as he walked further inside. "I got a surprise for you!"

Walking into the berthroom, Rodimus strode past the crib, change-table and all the toys and clothes Blackout had purchased for the bornling; instead, approaching the berth itself and a certain rabbit plushie left resting on a pillow. Scooping it up with one servo, the golden retriever gently sat down, lifting the doll above his shoulder to show the mechling.

"This is for you," the red mech smiled adoringly, giving the rabbit plushie a little shake. His spark swelled when we saw Hot Shot's optics brighten in delight. "Mommy spent a long time picking it out."

Carefully lowering the doll to the bornling, Rodimus chuckled when little servos grabbed at a purple paw, Hot Shot pulling the rabbit closer to his seeking mouth. "I guess someone's hungry," the autodog said with another laugh, tucking the plushie between the tiny mechling and himself. "I fed you several kliks ago too; you must have a big appetite! Good. You'll grow big and strong."

Getting to his pedes, the lawyer exited the berthroom for the kitchen, speaking softly to the curious Hot Shot the entire way.

**xxXxXxx**

It was too late to be lurking...

Snorting to himself, the panther lifted the beer bottle to his lip components, fighting to remain upright as he swayed precariously on the spot. The vertigo passed, thankfully, but in the kittycon's ignorance, he had managed to spill some of his drink down his front. Blackout could either not feel it as it soaked his shirt or simply did not care. Swallowing another mouthful of cheap high-grade, the large mech had his optics fixed on the dingy apartment across the street, three floors up and towards the east end. Among a row of darkened windows, one was lit brightly from within, showcasing the faraway frame of a certain red mech and his bornling.

The pup must have been a healthy one for Rodimus to be seen smiling like he was.

Fists clenching tightly, Blackout let the bottle drop back down to his side, suddenly uninterested in it. What he would have given to be up there with the autodog this very moment... His spark withered in his chestplates, causing the panther to cringe as it hurt across his entire neural net. His processor argued why he didn't just storm up to the building, pound on the door until Rodimus opened up and then let himself in. It wasn't like the golden retriever had any strength to remove him once he was inside and it's what Blackout would have done on any other orn.

That was true, the kittycon conceded to the little vocalizer in his helm, but this was not 'any other orn.' This was now, and that was Magnus' pup up there, being cradled and smiled at lovingly while his carrier gave him his nightly bottle. Rodimus didn't want him... Slag, the autodog didn't even _need_ him.

There would be no place for the thug if he went up there. The only person who'd be put off by that decision would ultimately be himself.

Glancing at the unfinished bottle still in his claws, Blackout tossed it somewhere off into the street, the sound of it shattering echoing loudly. He didn't care. Fists sinking into his coat pockets, the kittycon turned about and slunk miserably off into the night.

**xxXxXxx**

"C-coming... Coming!," the autodog called at another urgent rap at the door. Wiping the last of the sleep from his optics, Rodimus stumbled for the door, clumsily pulling his night shirt around so it rested properly along his torso. The autodog slagging near growled when the knock became a thunderous pounding on the door. After a long night with Hot Shot, the last thing the mech needed was some idiot waking the finally-recharing bornling.

"Yes?," Rodimus demanded a little testily, swinging the door open wide. Half-expecting his early morning guest to be Blackout, the golden retriever was caught off-guard by the sight of a smartly dressed mech and two enforcers standing outside.

"Are you a Mr. Rodimus Magnus?," the briefcase-carrying autodog asked.

"Y-yes, um," the lawyer stuttered, optics flaring in panic as the stranger gestured for the two enforcers to enter, "No, w-wait! Y-you can't come in!"

The stouter of the pair turned to Rodimus as he tried to block their path, grabbing the red mech by the collar of his night shirt and shoving him against the adjacent wall. Glancing to ensure his partner was okay, the second enforcer continued on to the golden retriever's room, just as Hot Shot began to wail within.

"G-Get out of my room!," Rodimus snarled, twisting and clawing to get free from his captor.

"Please Mr. Rodimus," the third mech sighed, snapping open his briefcase and pulling out an envelope, "If you would refrain from violence, this all will go a lot easier for you."

"What gives you the right to storm into my home and go through my private things?!," the lawyer snarled, again struggling to buck free. The enforcer merely tightened their grip, almost pressing their entire frame against Rodimus to keep him in place. "It is against the _law_ for you to trespass on my dwelling without-"

"This is not a criminal search, Mr. Rodimus," the autodog interjected, his expression pulling downwards with a frown. "This is in fact a summons."

At that instant, the second enforcer exited from the berthroom, a diaper bag over his shoulder and an upset bornling in his arms. Immediately, ice filled the golden retriever's energon lines and terror seized his spark, realizing what was happening. "N-no... NO!," he screamed, fighting madly. His enforcer squeezed even tighter, twisting one arm as a means to subdue the distraught carrier. To no avail. "P-please, no!"

"You have been summoned," the third autodog continued, waving the envelope in emphasis, "To appear tomorrow in Iacon court for the review of your custodial rights in regards to one autodog Hot Shot-"

"D-don't take him from me! PLEASE!"

"Failure to appear will result in the automatic surrender of your guardianship role over the bornling. You may seek legal aid for the hearing, or, as another route, you may represent yourself. It is advised that you do prepare in advance so you may best represent your case to the overseeing judge. At the end of the trial-"

S-stop! LET ME GO!," Rodimus screamed as the first enforcer carried his son out the door. "LET GO!"

"-you shall be informed of a number of options that may apply to you and the final ruling," the now-recognized social worker continued. "In the meantime, your sparkling will be under the protection of the state authorities and placed in a temporary home, where he will be cared for and looked after. An update on his status can be provided for you in court the following orn and for all other questions and support, please refer to the resources listed in here."

Setting the envelope down on the kitchen counter top, the autodog took a moment to look around the apartment, before finally turning to the bereaved lawyer. "That will be all for today, Mr. Rodimus. Thank you for your cooperation and have a lovely afternoon," he said, smiling tightly and exiting the apartment.

The second enforcer waited a total of two kliks before he stepped back and released the sobbing autodog, closing the door behind him as he too left. With nothing to hold him up against gravity, Rodimus sank to the floor, doubling over as his whole frame shook with despair. "M-my ba-baby...," he keened, servos cupped before his chestplates as if to catch the broken pieces of his spark.

In the absence of any other sound, his wails echoed all around him.

**xxXxXxx**

Servos shook as the autodog entered the small court room, fuel tanks roiling so bad that he was certain that he would purge right then and there. He shouldn't even have to be here... Optics fixed on the judge's podium to steady his pedes, Rodimus walked up the couple rows of pews, still tamping down the need to empty his tanks. He was uncertain if he should be glad that this case was being meted out in private court, then ultimately decided that any scenario that didn't involve him, happy and at home with his baby in his arms, was a loathsome one.

Sitting at the table designated for the defendant, the golden retriever tried to relax, fiddling with his briefcase to pass the time. Never had there been a more difficult task. Exhaustion crept up on the mech, threatening to undo him. He hadn't slept at all the night before, unable to stifle the terror at suddenly being all alone. This trial needed to end soon, so the autodog could have his bornling back... Thankfully, it wasn't too much longer before the courtroom doors opened again behind him; turning to face the monster who would ever dare to try and take his son away from him, Rodimus felt his spark torn from his chestplates twice in two orns.

"This way, sir," a black femme addressed, pulling out a chair for her companion. Her name came to the golden retriever immediately and he knew he was in trouble. Blackarachnia was considered _tyrannical_ in family court. Callous towards her clients, the other lawyer still had a hundred percent success rate. She never failed to win.

Fighting for his son would be a struggle with her alone.

Fighting for Hot Shot against _Ultra Magnus_...?

Optics heating as coolant began to fill them, Rodimus almost missed the bailiff's entry announcement of the presiding Judge. Everyone was quick to stand. "You may be seated," the old femme said as she took her seat. Fixing her glasses, she glanced at the files upon her desk, lip components pursing as she read over the contents. "So Mr. Magnus..."

Both mechs looked up.

"Mr. Rodimus," she corrected, staring at the younger autodog over the rim of her spectacles. "You have been summoned here today, at the request of Mr. Ultra Magnus, to determine whom the rightful guardianship of the pup, Hot Shot, shall fall to. You are representing yourself, I presume?"

"Y-yes...," the red mech answered, choking on his suddenly dry mouth, "Yo-your honor."

"Please present your case," the judge beckoned, her servos resting on the desk as she waited.

"I-i.." Rodimus stood weakly, fingers failing the first couple times to open the briefcase. He was trying so hard to keep his composure but his intakes were getting tighter and his processor kept blanking in grief. Why was Ultra Magnus here? What was he hoping to gain by this cruelty? Files scattered from the lawyer's grip, his servos trembling so badly, and in a panic he shoved them unceremoniously back into the file folder he'd first put them, carrying them to the bench in haste. "Y-you honor, these are l-legal documents detailing my current life," he explained. "Employment verification, annual income, housing situation, criminal records, medical history a-and um, pictures, o-of the living arrangements I have set up for my son at home."

"Thank you, Mr. Rodimus," the femme said, her attention already on the papers in her servos. "Please take a seat."

Rodimus did so quickly, keeping his optics glued to the table top as he waited. He could not, for the life of him, look at the other mech seated but a few feet away from himself.

"Well, it seems that you are financially and socially stable to support this bornling, Mr. Rodimus. Does your client have grounds of a rebuttal, Ms. Blackarachnia?," the Judge asked, glancing at the other lawyer.

"Indeed, your honor," the femme smiled shortly. With much more confidence than the golden retriever had, she withdrew her case files from her briefcase, strutting across the court room and handing the papers off surely. "Though Mr. Rodimus' information is technically correct, I'm afraid that he is failing to characterize to you who he really is."

"You mean...," the older femme scowled, "He is lying?"

"Merely omitting some crucial facts, your honor, but that can be construed as lying by many," Blackarachnia smiled.

Fixing a displeased look on the red mech, the Judge gestured towards the other lawyer. "Continue."

"First and foremost," the black femme began, bringing out her own copy of files, "The pup Hot Shot's creators are depicted as both Mr. Rodimus himself and my client on his birth documentation -a copy of which is included in the folder before you- but my client had no prior acknowledge of the bornling nor did he consent to being listed as his sire in the registry."

"Secondly, the vet's calculated date of conceiving can be traced back to last year, when Mr. Rodimus and my client were in disagreement over irrelevant, private matters. This argument disrupted Mr. Rodimus' home and work life, in turn affecting my own client negatively. By his admittance, he took to drinking often after hours as a means to handle his frustration; enough so that many of those nights he can not recall. This went on for a month, until Mr. Rodimus suddenly disappeared one day, taking his few possessions with him," Blackarachnia explained, flipping a page. "Hot Shot's relation to Mr. Magnus, who has never had sexual interactions with Mr. Rodimus before, sadly shows that Mr. Rodimus took advantage of my client during one of his inebriated states, becoming sparked and fleeing criminal prosecution as a result."

"No! I did not!," Rodimus yelled, snapping from his trance in outrage. He glared at Blackarachnia as he slammed the table with both fists, shaking from pede to helm. "That is a lie!"

"Mr. Rodimus!"

"He came onto me! I-i didn't rape him!," the golden retriever continued.

The Judge slammed her gavel on the bench angrily, cutting the red mech's tirade short. "Mr. Rodimus, did you or did you not interface with Mr. Magnus while he was inebriated?"

"B-bu-but-"

"Answer the question!"

Swallowing past the thick knot in his neck cables, Rodimus dropped his helm wretchedly. "Y...yes, your honor."

"Sit down," she snapped. "Now, your...," the Judge paused, quickly sorting through the documents, "There is no legal paperwork indicating the charges applied, Mr. Magnus."

"If I may, your honor," the great dane spoke up lowly, "I did not file a sexual assault report against Mr. Rodimus because of my history with him. Despite his actions, I carry no animosity towards him. I realize that refusing to seek legal action was an error on my part."

"And what history is that, Mr. Magnus?," the older femme asked, clearly irritated at this point.

"If I may, your honor," Blackarachnia spoke up this time, "I would gladly continue from this point." Waiting until she got the all clear, the lawyer smiled, jumping to a couple documents further back in the folder. "Provided at the back for your honor, is a police statement from two decades ago. It was almost impossible to retrieve via public records, as is quickly understood, for the file showcases that Mr. Rodimus was placed in Mr. Magnus' care under the Witness Protection act. Once known as Hot Rod, due to the mysterious disappearance of both of his creators and the suspected ties to some of Cybertron's dark crime world, Mr. Rodimus -a sparkling at the time- was left in my client's charge and given a new identity. As the case is still unsolved, Mr. Rodimus has grown up under this alias, and as should be obvious during these proceedings, still identifies by the new moniker."

"Which brings me to my third and final point," the femme said, turning to the horror-stricken autodog. "This new job, apartment, bank account... All of these are listed under a 'Hot Rod', Mr. Rodimus' original name. But since this identity has not be cleared by the enforcers', all of the identification Mr. Rodimus has used to validate his claims has been gained through illegal channels. This includes, but is not limited to: birth certificates, medical documentation, driver's licenses, academy degrees, state bar license, etc etc."

Going through the pages one by one, the Judge eventually came to a stop, servos folding before herself as she vented heavily. "Do you have any further evidence to present, Ms. Blackarachnia?"

"No, your honor," the femme smiled politely, still standing.

"Very well..." Rodimus watched as the Judge lifted her mallet, holding back tears as he desperately prayed for favor. How Blackarachnia had ever found out so much about him, the golden retriever did not know, but he knew slagging well how it made him look. "In light of Mr. Rodimus' grievous transgressions and his clear disregard for his son's and his own personal safety, the court rules that guardianship fall to the sire, Mr. Magnus," the Judge announced.

"NO!," the red mech cried, jumping to his pedes a second time.

"At this time, I am requesting that a full investigation be performed on Mr. Rodimus and denying all visitation rights meanwhile. No appeal will be permitted until the enforcers' report has been submitted for the court's review, after which any changes can be brought back before the court again," the old femme added loudly, ignoring the autodog.

"P-please!," Rodimus begged, unable to keep the tears back any longer as the Judge rose from the bench, "Pl-puh-please! That i-is my bornling. YOU CAN'T TAKE H-HIM AWAY FR-FROM ME!" She wasn't looking at him. The distraught lawyer foolishly tried to rush the older femme, but was intercepted by the bailiff and wrestled out of the court room. Thrown to the floor, Rodimus did not bother getting up, face folded into his knees as he wept over his shattered spark.

"-will bring Hot Shot to your residence once we meet with the social worker and wrap up the paperwork," Blackarachnia was saying, strutting from out of the court room a klik after. "If you're ready, we'll -Mr. Magnus?"

Hearing the heavy pedes draw up to his side, the red mech wiped at his face hastily; fixing angry optics on the great dane as he deemed it appropriate to kneel beside the smaller autodog. "Rodimus, I...," Ultra Magnus sighed, pausing when he noticed the other's rancor. If he was aiming for sympathy, his wide, baffled optics ruined the effect.

"Leave me alone...," the golden retriever snarled lowly.

"Rodimus," the blue mech whispered, "He is my _son_."

"Don't act as if you actually want him! You didn't even want me!," the other autodog shouted.

"Control yourself!," Ultra Magnus snapped, losing his patience a little. "Rodimus with the way you've been acting, this is really for the best. Can't you see that I'm just trying to help y-"

Hearing the same statements he'd had to suffer for stellar cycles on end, following a decision that robbed him off his month-old bornling, was too much. Outrage and pain bled away to a mindless agony, causing Rodimus to lunge forward suddenly, howling as he reached for those slagging optics. A black heel cut off his course of action, knocking the golden retriever's fist to the floor and pinning it there by the wrist.

"Now, now, Mr. Rodimus," Blackarachnia cooed from above the snarling mech. One servo on her hip, the femme wasn't even paying attention to the feral mech, too engrossed in her cellphone. "I don't think you want to be adding assault to your record during this delicate time. And Mr. Magnus, the car is waiting. I suggest we leave now."

The great dane, having fallen back on his aft at the unexpected attack, could only shutter his optics dumbly up at the femme for a moment. Eventually, a mask of resignation covered Ultra Magnus' face and he climbed back onto his pedes, dusting himself off quickly. "Please lead the way, Ms. Blackarachnia," he requested, turning his back to Rodimus.

Content with the course of action, Blackarachnia slid her phone back out of sight, guiding the older mech towards the exit. As they walked away, she could be heard softly discussing Hot Shot's move into the autodog's home. From his spot still on the floor, the golden retriever could only watch them go, the colour of his optics dimming as his spark withered ever smaller.

**xxXxXxx**

In a haze, Rodimus made his way home. He was uncertain of how he did so, the memory of the return trip lost somewhere in those few cycles. All he knew was that suddenly he was standing before his apartment door, and outside, night had fallen.

Mechanically, the autodog withdrew his keys from his coat, unlocking the door and entering inside. With his back to the rest of the room, he removed his outdoor articles, stored them away in the closet and hung his keys on a little hook behind the front door. When he turned around, the red mech was surprised by the chaos waiting for him.

Optics roamed from one end of the living room to the next, taking in the scattering of toys, blankets, pacifiers and bottles. There were so many items that they left an unruly trail to the berthroom, puzzling the distant lawyer further. The quantity with which the mess overran his home suggested that something was missing...

In silence, Rodimus headed for the berthroom, stripping off his suit jacket and pulling the loose tie free. He stopped, just short of the doorway, frozen by the sight of a bassinet, a diaper bin, a bornling plushie on the rumpled berth, a set of tiny clothes laid out for the orn before...

His vents seized, choking as he fell sideways into the doorframe, desperately trying to cycle an intake and gasping weakly instead. It was then that his olfactory sensor faintly picked up Hot Shot's scent -so fresh and innocent- the sound of his poor bornling's cries filling his helm. He rushed, in a trance, for the bassinet to rescue his pup, only to find nothing there and silence surrounding him. His helm tipping back with an anguished yowl, Rodimus crumpled over the bassinet, weeping loudly.

He was gone. Hot Shot was gone.

_H-help..._

The golden retriever felt scraping claws grip around his spark, yanking and tearing until he could feel nothing inside. An emptiness reflected by the lonesome shadows filling his apartment. The autodog managed another wail, his chestplates restricting around his struggling intakes.

_So-someone... please..._

Someone had stolen his bornling from him.

_...dy-dying..._

He was never getting him back.

Servos trembling, Rodimus dug through the bassinet, momentarily believing in his grief-stricken processor that the mechling was merely hidden away under the blankets. But in the end, the mech only held swaths of cotton in both palms, pressing the scent-enriched material to his torso as he stared brokenly into the padded bottom. It could not fill the cavernous hole where his son once settled.

 **C.M.D: I said this would be an angsty one... Anyhow, another chapter waiting up ahead! Also, check out my newest fic: _Whiskers and Paws_ -the final installment of compiled autodog/kittycon tales. It'll contain any extra stories that I won't be able to fit here without exceeding the fifty chapter cap.**  
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	34. Blades and First Aid XIII

**C.M.D: One last (late) update. I'll see you all next month! ...hopefully...**

**Title: Blades and First Aid XIII**  
Rating: M   
**Warning: Incest; mentions of rape and suicide**

"I'm sorry to bother you," Ratchet began to speak, the moment the door cracked open.

Seeing who his late night visitor was, Groove threw it open the rest of the way, grabbing at the labrador's arm. "Come in, come in," he gasped, yanking the vet inside. The older mech stumbled along, turning his helm to see the komondor reach for First Aid. It hurt to see the australian shepherd flinch from his carrier's touch, yet nothing compared to the look of devastation on Groove's own face.

Waving them ahead, Ratchet took the lead at Groove's dismissal, a servo rested gently on the nurse's back as he guided them towards the living room. He was not all that surprised by the audience waiting them within.

"Thank you for calling me, Ratchet," Yoketron said, coming up to the pair. The vet urged First Aid to take a seat, and the silent mech did so, leaving the two older autodogs to speak. The kai ken did not fail to notice the exchange. "He trusts you a great deal..."

"He needs it," Ratchet mumbled, his glossa heavy in his mouth. "First Aid's had so much ripped from him, now this...?"

"He is uninjured though, yes?," the Special Ops officer asked. His servo gripped the handle of his cane tightly.

The labrador vented wearily. "He is. I checked him thoroughly, but the energon did not come from him. Pup doesn't have even a scratch."

"I have sent someone to check his premise," the older autodog informed to the vet's shock. "If the energon did not come from our dear First Aid, I greatly fear whose it might be. Soundblaster will contact me with whatever he finds."

That was reasonable. Shaking his helm, Ratchet couldn't help but to say, "I wish this whole thing would end." Catching the kai ken's peculiar look, the labrador elaborated. "No one deserves what's happened. Least of all people, First Aid. He was just starting to get better."

"I... agree," Yoketron shared sadly. "This family has suffered too much."

Before Ratchet could add anything, Groove approached them from behind, his servos wringing his night robe anxiously. "W-will... Will someone finally tell us what's going on? Yoketron only expressed that we needed to be awake because something had happened and now you're all here and-"

"Yes, yes," the Special Ops officer soothed, touching the other autodog's arm softly. "Ratchet will explain the situation at once. Hot Spot?"

At his name, the affenpinscher came forward and guided his fretful bondmate to the couch. It was hard to get Groove to sit -he kept glancing at First Aid in the corner of the living room, attempting to move closer to his youngest son- but finally the komondor submitted to his spouse's heavy servo, sinking into the cushion beside the worried Ignis.

Seeing that an audience of anxious optics watched him, the vet vented heavily, coughing into his fist as he took a step forward. "I, um... There's been an incident," Ratchet began flatly, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. "There's really no other way to put it. I know you've had questions for months while you've waited for First Aid to contact you, and he's been doing so well in his recovery, but then he showed up at my door this evening; speckled in energon and requesting-"

"E-energon!," Groove shrieked, optics glazing with coolant as his helm snapped towards the australian shepherd. "W-why!?"

"-help," the labrador continued, scowling at the outburst until Hot Spot silently hushed the panicked komondor, "He himself has expressed that he needs help and I'm not certain I can assist him in his recovery any longer, which is why Yoketron and myself believe you may be able to do more where we can't-"

"...don't want their help...," came a low hiss, interrupting Ratchet this time. Stunned by its presence, the older mech turned to the arm chair on the far side of the living room, First Aid clutching the edges of the seat as he glared at the floor.

"What...?"

"I said, I don't want their help!," the nurse barked out angrily, casting a hateful look to his family. "They're nothing but a bunch of liars and backstabbers!"

"First Aid!," Hot Spot responded first, his tone sharp and critical. "What is the meaning of this? We've never done anything to hurt you! Your mother and sister are already distraught as it is, why then are you making these horrible accusations?"

"Liar!," the small mech shrieked, jumping to his pedes, a finger stabbing through the air towards Ignis. "She's not my sister! Technically, she's my niece!"

Various expressions of shock circled around the room on every face except two: Yoketron and Ignis. Colour draining from his faceplates, Groove looked about frantically, focusing on the femme for a moment as she dropped her helm in guilt.

"Y-you... Did you think that I wouldn't find out?," First Aid choked, anger dissipating as quickly as it had come. Without it, the poor mech trembled in place, his optics overflowing in his vulnerability.

"Son, we-," Hot Spot stuttered hesitantly, "We wanted to wait until you were older. It was... with the war and the camp... it was a lot, we weren't a hundred percent sure what had happened ourselves and we didn't know how to explain it to you as a sparkling. Please, First Aid, we really didn't mean to keep it a secret..."

"Bull-slag!," the australian shepherd spat suddenly. "You had stellar cycles to tell me. STELLAR CYCLES. But you never did, and yet everybody else knew this!"

Groove rose to his pedes at this moment, servos held out towards the white autodog desperately. "B-baby, please-"

"SHUT UP! No more lies," First Aid cried, his pitch escalating as his emotions ran wild. "I don't want to hear a fragging word! All my life I've believed... Everything I knew is false and it's all your doing! If you'd just told me that Streetwise and Blades had... w-were... I-i've wasted all this time loving him, when I never even had a chance!"

Ratchet watched, frozen, as his assistant hiccuped, his composure rapidly dissolving as a servo clutched at his aching spark. "I-i love him a-and now I-i know h-he'll ne-never want me," the nurse sobbed loudly, "B-because he's l-loved so-someone else a-all these s-stellar cy-cyles a-and I-i'm w-worthless in c-comparison. S-so worthless t-that I l-let o-others h-hurt me and u-use me..."

"W-why d-did you l-let me believe I-i was ever s-significant...?"

Servos covering his face, First Aid fled the room towards the back of the house; the slamming back door heralding his escape into the backyard. In his departure, a heavy silence blanketed the room, strangling the occupants with its clutching grasp. Groove was the first to break it as the devastated carrier fainted on the spot.

Hot Spot caught him before he could fall very far; lowering him to the floor gently as Ratchet jogged over to check on the komondor. "He's alright," he said to the blue mech, servos pulling away after his examination. "Just... stress. And shock."

The affenpinscher nodded his thanks before he turned a stern frown to the youngling standing over them, her tail tucking between her legs in fright. "You knew...?," he demanded, unable to keep the growl fully at bay.

"I-i'm sorry, papa," Ignis whimpered, hugging herself loosely. "I-i found out F-First Aid w-was looking a-at our files a-around the time he went missing. I d-didn't..."

"Groove needs rest," Ratchet cut in, putting a servo on Hot Spot's shoulder to physically draw his attention. He maintained his neutral gaze even when the veteran turned tumultuous optics toward his own. "Take him upstairs to your berth and watch for him to come to."

It took an astrosecond, but the blue mech eventually rose to his pedes, his bondmate held carefully in his arms. The two creators now gone from the room, and the youngling having sunk to the couch again in misery, the vet turned to the only other occupant. Putting away his cellphone, Yoketron seemed strangely unphased by the events that had just occurred, as if he had walked in after the fact instead of being present during the disaster. Grabbing the older mech by the elbow, Ratchet stormed into the kitchen, turning to be face-to-face with the kai ken.

"You knew," he growled accusingly. "You knew all of this beforehand, didn't you?"

"I did," Yoketron confirmed casually.

"What gives you the fragging right to make me drag a poor 'bot struggling to recover from assault, to face the family that he hates?," the labrador demanded. "Do you realize what you have done?!"

The Special Ops officer did not budge to remove the other's servo, despite the rough shake Ratchet gave him. Instead, the older autodog looked him straight in his optics, speaking calmly. "I understand your feelings, Ratchet, but just as your anger is driven by despair and empathy for a beloved colleague, so too is First Aid's emotional state a cause of multiple factors rather than one, simple excuse," the kai ken replied. "Though he currently feels otherwise, it was important that this confession occurred between his family. He will need them to finish his recovery."

"Oh yeah?," Ratchet snarled.

"Oh, yes," Yoketron said, so slagging calm still. "Soundblaster messaged me a couple kliks ago, you see. The energon and knife are Blades'... He apparently tried to kill himself. And in front of First Aid."

Ratchet, who had been gearing up to interrupt the old coot with a slue of colorful words, found himself frozen with his mouth hanging wide open. Though a spark of anger still burned within him, a wave of guilt moved through the vet stronger than that rage, making him back down quickly.

"Please tend to First Aid, Ratchet," the kai ken instructed softly, "And see to it that he gets some rest, whether that be here or at your home. He can't be alone tonight." Removing the younger autodog's servo, Yoketron gave Ratchet one final look, before patting the labrador on the arm and exiting the kitchen.

Cycling a shaky intake after a long klik, Ratchet headed out into the backyard.

**xxXxXxx**

"Are you certain you want to do this?" Soundblaster peered out of the tiny kitchen, checking on the catatonic mech seated in the other room. Blades had yet to move even an ear since being left there on the couch and the persian worried if the autodog was still cycling intakes.

"It's not like he has any other place to go, right? Zwing!," Warpath answered, gently bumping the black mech.

Seeing the cup of oil held out for him, Soundblaster accepted with a grateful nod; pausing a moment to study the strange imagery on the mug before speaking again. "I, e-er, I mean no. No, he does have other places he can go but Yoketron is uncertain if they will be of any help at this time," he answered. "If it's a bother though, we can-"

"It's alright, Soundblaster," the autodog chuckled softly. "You tell Yoketron that I'm happy to take Blades in for a while. Though I'm not too sure myself if I can be of any help. Poor kid looks completely gone... Choom."

"Yoketron has absolute faith in you," the persian smiled behind his mask. "You still have my number in case something comes up?" A nod. "Okay then. I suppose I should get going..." Sighing, Soundblaster pulled aside his mask, throwing back his drink in one swallow, before handing the mug off to his companion and striding into the living room purposefully.

"Blades?," he began. The mercenary did not respond as the kittycon approached. Optics dim and lowered to the floor in listless fashion, Blades had been the same since Soundblaster had found him outside First Aid's apartment -bandaged neck cables and all. It had been a relief to find him alive. When Yoketron had called the black mech earlier, the report he had given him implied that the bull terrier might no longer be alive. As much of a nuisance the autodog was to him on a daily basis, Soundblaster would never wish to see him dead.

Kneeling in front of his companion cited no reaction still, and Soundblaster couldn't be sure he was even being seen by Blades. What was happening in the poor mech's helm just then...? Despite their different backgrounds and breeds, they'd all seen and suffered a number of horrors since coming together as the secret organization known as the 'Wreckers'. It had left its mark on all of them... but not a single one had attempted to kill themselves. Until now.

"Blades," the persian continued, ears drooping when he still got no response from the mercenary, "Blades, I'm leaving now. You're going to be staying with Warpath for a little while. Yoketron thinks it's best, but... if you need anything... anything... Call me. Warpath has my private cell number, should you want to use that instead of the office number."

The bull terrier shuttered his optics quickly but did nothing else.

Sighing, Soundblaster whispered a farewell to the red mech; rising to his pedes and shaking servos with Warpath before finally leaving. There was little change to the atmosphere once the kittycon was gone. Finishing his cup of oil slowly, the veteran studied Blades in his statuette-like state, smacking his lip components loudly as he set his empty mug aside.

"It's been a while, hasn't it kid?," the older autodog said, trying to sound marginally jovial and failing. "Let's get you some fresh bandages for that cut and maybe we can swap wild stories after. Bam!" Blades did not respond, but Warpath didn't expect him to. Grabbing the mercenary by the elbow, he gently guiding his mute comrade up and down the apartment hall.

**xxXxXxx**

A soft rap echoed on the open door, the fifth one of the orn so far. Too tired to wipe the old tear tracks from his cheekplates, First Aid just sat there, uncaring to respond to the polite summons. The berthroom door creaked a little as it was swung the rest of the way open; a pair of pedes padding softly into the room. Why couldn't he just be left alone? The australian shepherd fumed silently to himself, trying to understand why he had ever agreed to Ratchet's persuasion to stay with his family. He hadn't been ready to see them before that night a week ago and the nurse was still unprepared to engage with them as of yet. Now he had to suffer through constant supervision and his well-intending relatives' never-ending visits.

His latest visitor was probably Groove again, the most anxious of all his family currently.

"I don't want to talk," the white mech croaked, refusing to face the newcomer.

"That's alright," the unexpected vocalizer answered kindly, "I was hoping to tell you a story anyhow."

Going rigid on the berth, First Aid watched mutely as Streetwise rounded into the corner of his peripheral, going so far as to walk directly into the middle of the nurse's sight lines and sitting down at the desk chair across from him. The akita said nothing initially, taking the time to smooth out the wrinkles in his skirt, his lip components still pursed in a mellow smile. Staring at his older brother, First Aid couldn't help the nasty flare of jealously he felt just then, his jaw tightening to keep the angry insults at bay.

Streetwise had always been so beautiful. Well-rounded chestplates, long, slender limbs and waistline, alongside a smile that could strike most 'bots foolish... The australian shepherd used to be one of those awed by his sibling's gorgeous graces, never spiteful of them. Until he had found out about his and Blades' relationship.

First Aid realized that the older mech was looking at him now while he struggled to keep his emotions from registering on his face and the nurse quickly adopted a frown in response. Despite what he was feeling, he kept true to his word and did not speak. The taller autodog was quick to catch onto that.

"I was informed of everything recently," the akita began, his optics dim with sympathy. "I'm truly sorry about the state of things, First Aid. I never would have guessed that you were unaware of... circumstances... within our family. I'm even sorrier that we may have had a hand in what happened to you after that orn of the party."

The australian shepherd bit on the inside of his cheekplate, using the mild shock of pain to keep his emotions in check.

"And seeing as you are missing chunks of the whole story, I thought it only proper that I be the one to enlighten you," Streetwise added. Seeing that First Aid had yet to protest the offer, or say anything at all really, the older autodog laid his servos out in his lap, venting deeply before starting.

"A long time ago, before certain conflicts had blown into a global war, we lived happily in a quaint town far away from the capital. Mom and Dad kept themselves busy, as there was nothing to worry about in those orns, allowing Blades and myself to roam free. Blades was, well," the akita chuckled softly, glancing aside as he recalled old memories, "He was special. I fell for him long before he felt the same for me. We shared a few stellar cycles of sweet, innocent affection under our unknowing parents' olfactory sensors, before war came and tore our family apart."

"It... happened shortly after you were born," Streetwise told, the smile finally dropping as his entire expression darkened in sorrow. "Dad and I were sent to a labor camp... Mom and you, elsewhere. Blades had been left for dead back in our scoured town. We didn't know where each other were or even if you were alive for the longest time, and then it didn't matter because the first, intimate moment Blades and I had shared the orn you were born had resulted in me being sparked as I was terrified to discover."

First Aid fisted the sheets beneath him, worrying fingers threatening to tear the delicate fabric. He didn't ever want to hear about Streetwise and Blades interfacing but he just couldn't bring himself to tell his brother to stop.

"The next three stellar cycles blur from there," the taller autodog explained. "Isolated from even Dad, I was made to have Ignis, only to then have her ripped away from me. From there, I was kept as a pet for the overseeing kittycon; beaten, forced to act like a mindless beast and raped, orn after orn..."

"I lived a Pit-worthy nightmare for so long, that at the time, I truly forgot that there had ever been anything else. Then one orn, everything dissolved into chaos..." Pausing, the akita turned to the window, a long klik passing before he spoke up again. "I... Still don't remember exactly what unfolded then. I only recall pain, desperation... and then nothing as I finally died."

"...d...d-died...?," First Aid mumbled. Becoming wrapped up in his brother's tale, specifically the horrifying recant of his unknown sexual abuse, had reminded the australian shepherd sharply of his own still-fresh memories. Without intending it, his spark softened in empathy over their shared experiences, that when the mention of Streetwise's passing came up, it had startled the nurse from his forced muteness.

"Yes," Streetwise confirmed, "Died."

The smile was back again but the smaller autodog realized now that it wasn't a happy one. It simply masqueraded as such. Rolling up his sleeves, Streetwise began to meticulously pull back his plating, no signs of pain registering on his beautiful face. For an astrosecond, First Aid was horrified, and he was on the very verge of purging when he noticed that only a little energon trickled from the exposed piping and lines. And that's when he realized why the akita bled so unnaturally... Among the large gaps of typical Cybertronian anatomy were strips and strips of glowing panels; tiny LEDs and luminescent rows of computer chips creating an eerie halo of light between the rest of Streetwise's natural components.

"I died that orn, the orn that Blades came with a friend, to ultimately kill our captors and free our family. He was not," Streetwise sighed sadly, pulling his arm towards himself so he might study the queer interior for a moment, "Able to save myself, obviously. I was buried with dozens of others and left in peace, until a certain monster orchestrating the war behind the scenes decided I would be of use to him. He cloned bits of my frame and fabricated the rest, then put me together: a weapon of mass destruction wrapped up in a familiar face, complete with memories and a spark. A tool meant to bring an end to Blades and many others..."

Looking up again, the akita locked optics with the younger autodog, folding his plating back and rolling his sleeve down. "I failed in that capacity, due to the heroic efforts of our brother and his friends, and with no other purpose, it was deemed that I should return to your lives as if I had only been gone temporarily," he explained. "You were still very young at the time, but it took a while before Mom and Dad could accept me as their son again. As for Blades... The Streetwise he loved died that orn in his mind. Though Blades views me in some sense as his brother these orns, he will never love me as he did those stellar cycles so very long ago. And that is probably for the better."

"Because now Blades loves someone else: You," Streetwise finished, smiling again. "He loves you in ways he never did me and I know that he suffers greatly every passing klik for having failed you. He always wanted to protect you, First Aid. That's why he came to me... Too afraid you might reject him, or worse, him hurt you."

"I-i-," the nurse began, intakes hitching at the swell of information.

"I-is... is everything alright?," a third vocalizer spoke up. Groove stood in the open doorway uncertainly, a tray of tea and snacks held in his servos as he peered inside the room, glancing between his two sons. He stiffened when he saw the rivers of coolant pouring down his youngest's cheekplates.

"I-i'm sorry! 'M s-so sor-sorry M-mommy!," First Aid sobbed aloud suddenly. "I-i never m-meant t-to- I-i-i ju-just-" Groove dropped his tray in a hurry, rushing into the room and climbing onto the berth beside the white autodog. As soon as the komondor was close, the australian shepherd turned into his carrier's side, pushing deep into his warm embrace. "I-it hurt s-so bad w-with Bl-blades a-and I co-couldn't stop t-that o-other mech from r...! T-then f-finding out a-about I-ignis and- I-i di-didn't k-know what t-to do! I n-never re-really hated a-any- I ju-just wa-wanted t-to st-stop h-hurting... I-i'm s-sorry... I'm so-sorry..."

"Ssh, ssh," Groove choked, his own optics overflowing with tears as he rocked the smaller autodog back and forth, "I-it's not your fault, First Aid. M-my baby... m-my poor baby... S-ssh, ssh..."

Outside the berthroom, Ignis wiped at her face, muffling a sniffle as she glanced at the affenpinscher standing on the other side of the doorway. Though Hot Spot stood with his arms crossed stiffly over his broad chestplates, a glimmer of coolant rimmed the bottom of his optics as well. It was the first time the youngling had ever seen her grand-sire cry. Peeking one last time at the three crying mechs within, the femme finally snuck away, heading back to her own berthroom.

**C.M.D: Home at last...**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	35. Mainframe II

**C.M.D: Hey, look at that, it's another chapter for Mainframe! ...How long as it been? Quite a while, I have to say. My muses have been more focused on First Aid or Rodimus, but it's nice to finally get more story written for the other characters on my list. And boy, what a bit of story do I have planned for this little nerd! I'll get to the juicy bits in time but please enjoy something a little lighter for this month!**

**Title: Mainframe II  
Rating: T**

When Mainframe had finally been granted permission to return to his office, he was appalled to see the state it had been left in. A stack of Science Department related paperwork had been moved neatly to another console! A lab table had been relocated to the centre of the room, nearby computer wires tidily draped over the side bars! And someone had removed one of his blue pens from his desk holder! All in all, the cocker collie was unimpressed and he idly thought to give Ratchet a piece of his mind over this mess, when said vet strode right back into his office, a grim scowl on his face.

"There's a problem, Mainframe," he said, pointing towards the programmer's chair, without looking away from his datapad once.

Mainframe stared for a moment in bewilderment, before realizing that the older mech was ordering him to sit and not implying that the problem lied with his chair. Stubbornly, the cocker collie refused to comply, fixing his own sullen glare at the labrador. Catching it with an upwards glance, Ratchet sighed, refraining from pinching his olfactory sensor in annoyance.

"Mainframe, your lab is _fine_. Nothing has been misplaced or destroyed or violated. In fact, other than the _dire_ essentials, nothing was touched."

"Tell that to my coded 000F55 blue pen," the programmer grumbled.

"What was that?," Ratchet scowled deeper.

Mainframe did not respond.

"Anyways," the vet continued slowly, eyeing the cocker collie a moment longer before returning to his datapad, "It seems our initial analysis has revealed a far more critical situation than my colleague and I had estimated. Thus, we will need to rent your lab facility for some time longer until we are able to take

care of this problem. Probably a few months longer."

The younger autodog almost had an aneurysm.

"N-no!," he was eventually able to get out, close to trembling in outrage and fear at the idea of his sanctuary open for such a lengthy time to Ratchet's band of scrupulous characters.

The labrador's scowl hit an all-time new low at the protest. "This isn't a request anymore, Mainframe," he said sternly. "This problem is now on a government level and they can simply commandeer your labs if you do not cooperate. It's only at my request that they even asked in the first place."

If Mainframe wasn't going to throw a fit before, he was ready to blow a gasket now. "B-bu-but," he stammered, fighting wild emotions and anxiety to get the words out, "M-my work- The D-department-?!"

"Will be fine. We'll message you ahead of time what days we need the labs," Ratchet explained, "And I'll be sure we've vacated the premises no later than four in the afternoon. That'll give you plenty of time to catch up on work or fix any 'messes' we make. Fair enough?"

It wasn't, but what could Mainframe really do? If he refused, the "government" would simply kick him out of his labs anyhow and take over for as long as they wanted, with no concern for the 'bot who owned the space. No, Mainframe would have to concede -silently cursing the corrupt power of seating in the social structure of Cybertron- and trust that Ratchet's good word would allot him some time in his haven. Waving his servo minutely to the other autodog's impatient demands for confirmation, the cocker collie turned to busy himself at a console, still not responding to the vet's farewells as he finally left.

**xxXxXxx**

This wasn't good...

"Have you seen my results?," Ratchet asked, focused on the scans before him. They were lit brightly from beneath by the projector screen, their gruesome details visible to anyone in the office with him. From behind, Brainstorm scoffed, quietly lifting the lid off one of the medical jars and slipping a handful of latex gloves into his coat.

"For what purpose? That mumbo jumbo means nothing," the tervuren replied.

The vet refrained from hissing in annoyance, finally turning around to face his companion. "That 'mumbo jumbo' as you call it is important. You may not think so, but Streetwise's cybernetic state is key in this procedure and as it stands now, it's fast deteriorating. At least three times quicker than the Cybertronian form is supposed too!," Ratchet gruffed, servos planted firmly on his hips. "I've already read the reports from Yoketron-"

"The dumbed down version," Brainstorm cut in.

"- _And_ ," the labrador continued, not addressing the interruption with more than a glare, "We're both essential to this task. Not just _you_ and _your science_ , Brainstorm."

"You say it as if 'my science' was some mediocre, kindergarten class," the teal mech said snippily, tossing a glossa depressor at the shorter autodog. "Not that I should have to remind you but I am the greatest, untold miracle of science! Better than that Percy fellow in your silly, lil' department..."

"And _I_ ," the vet growled additionally, "Am the top of my field, so considering you know nothing about the delicacies of the Cybertronian frame, put this foolish contest to rest! I rely on you to work out a solution quickly just as you need to rely on me keeping Streetwise alive until then. And I'm telling you now... after these tests, we don't have as much time as we thought."

The scientist did not reply for the longest time, playing with the office drawers and medical jars, before he finally vented softly. "Alright, I get it. Got a copy handy? I'm sure Yoketron will want this for his reports," he said dully.

Ratchet nodded, grabbing a thin file folder from his desktop and handing it to the tervuren. "Shall I expect you'll be late tomorrow as well?," the labrador asked as his guest turned to the door to leave.

Brainstorm paused, shooting the vet a masked smile. "Yep!," he answered cheerfully. Then he was gone. Venting loudly, the other mech simply began tidying up for the night; turning off the office lights and heading home himself.

**xxXxXxx**

The moment Ratchet had left his labs, the programmer had set to work. And he worked and worked, until the night had drawn to a close and he realized with bleary optics that the time displayed on his desktop was nearing five a.m. Yet, all Mainframe was worried about was that even after a night of rewriting codes, his systems still weren't protected enough from Ratchet and the crazed tervuren. There wasn't much else he could do though... The security guards were doing changeover right at this very moment and a couple cycles after that, Mainframe would have to forfeit his lab to a vet and a mad mech. It was enough to make the cocker collie wish to scream to the ceiling above.

Venting in annoyance -because screaming, though desired, was not Mainframe's style- the autodog set about beginning his usual morning routine; first by checking the operation status of all the fire exits and alarms, followed by availability and functionality of all fire extinguishers on Wheeljack's floor. After several kliks of self-talk and tucking his tablet securely under one arm, Mainframe finally left his office -only to discover a lone mech casually wandering the hall outside his door. Spark pulsing erratically (why was there a stranger here?! Strangers weren't allowed up to his floor!) the programmer tried to step back into the safety of his lab, but the sliding doors instead closed quickly behind him with a loud 'zwip!', blocking Mainframe's escape and drawing the other autodog's attention towards himself.

The anxious autodog was only able to realize that the intruder raising his arm in polite greeting was the beautiful akita from the other morning, before everything fluttered and fell to black.

**xxXxXxx**

Streetwise was just raising his servo, glad to have found someone finally, when the poor cocker collie slumped to the side suddenly. In half an astrosecond, he had crossed the hallway and caught the shorter autodog before he could crack his helm on the floor, but the action left Streetwise's entire frame on fire. Neural net screaming in agony, the white mech cautiously collapsed to his knees, adjusting his hold on the unknown 'bot.

"This is not what I had expected," the akita mumbled to himself softly. "Oh dear... I hope he wakes up soon. I'd hate to call for help."

Calling for help meant moving. Moving either meant taking the cocker collie with him or leaving him behind. Streetwise was currently not capable of anything at the moment; at least, not until the burning faded from his frame and the blaring alerts disappeared from his field of vision. He really shouldn't have exerted so much energy... Yet, it was for a good cause. The akita didn't wish to be the source of anyone's pain and he had succeeded so far. Smiling sweetly, Streetwise set the shorter mech's helm in his lap as he laid him out on the floor carefully; content to stroke the other's ears until the poor autodog regained consciousness.

**xxXxXxx**

His helm hurt. Groaning a little, Mainframe shifted, slowly coming to the realization that he had fainted. Well, great, that's just what he needed to start the orn with after a long, anxious night of no recharge. Trying to recall what had caused him to collapse in the first place, Mainframe painstakingly onlined his optics again to find himself staring up at two serene lagoons haloed by a white background. The waters swirled when they noticed the autodog watching; a sultry chuckle sounding.

"Good morning," the chuckle said, the lagoons transforming into a pair of optics, the white sky forming into a face. "I'm glad you've finally woken. I was afraid I may have to go and find help, leaving you unattended."

Spark seizing, the cocker collie realized with horror that he was staring up at the face of the stranger he'd spotted outside his labs. Even more terrifying, the programmer noticed a klik after that his helm was currently resting in said intruder's lap.

"Oh!," the akita gasped as Mainframe squirmed violently; dropping out of his lap and and wriggling a safe distance away before clambering to his pedes. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you- now or earlier! I was only trying to find someone but I couldn't find any staff downstairs to assist me."

_'That doesn't give you the clearance to wander in restricted hallways!,'_ the programmer wanted to shout, but he couldn't even feel his glossa as the stranger gracefully rose to his pedes, readjusting his coat and smiling sweetly.

"My name is Streetwise," he introduced, holding out a servo to shake. "May I know your name?"

Mainframe could felt himself get lightheaded again; fumbling a couple more steps back but finding only wall instead. He almost missed the ding of the elevator, too focused in on the concerned akita watching him in puzzlement, snapping out of his terrified trance only when a familiar vocalizer shouted down the hall.

"Mainframe, you better not faint!," Ratchet growled, quickly striding forward. The vet carried a large box before himself, cycling heavy intakes at the unknown weight within. "I have no time for your fits this morning."

His pride burned at the scolding but the cocker collie only threw a passing glare to the vet before the anxious mech bolted past his two unwanted guests; picking up his fallen tablet along the way and rushing for the elevator. He ignored everything behind him as he punched the down button, practically collapsing to the floor as he tripped into the lift in his haste to escape. No matter though, Mainframe thought, hugging his tablet and venting rapidly to soothe his frazzled sensors. He had managed to get away from a horrific confrontation and in a moment, he'd have security handle the beautiful pit-spawn lurking in his halls.

All would be well... Soothed for a moment, Mainframe cycled a relieved intake -recalling immediately after that he wouldn't be able to return to his labs for some time this orn. Mood souring, the autodog sullenly tried to figure out what he'd be doing the rest of the time, climbing back onto his pedes as the elevator neared the ground floor.

**xxXxXxx**

"What the frag were you thinking?!"

Streetwise bowed his helm contritely, glancing at the irate vet nursing his stinging servo, before apologizing. "I am really sorry, Ratchet. I startled the poor mech and I didn't want him to get injured because of me."

"That was incredibly stupid!," the labrador growled out. He glared at the pen holder he'd knocked over with his slamming, a fleeting urge to tidy up passing through him, but instead turned away from the scattered pens in disgust. "Resorting to that sort of power- you're here because you've been experiencing increasing pain and temporary paralysis for weeks now, especially following use of your abilities! To do something that slagging foolish...!?"

"I'm sorry," Streetwise repeated.

Ratchet vented angrily for a moment, before finally coming over and unloading the box he'd carried in with him. Among the contents was a variety of expensive medical equipment. The akita noticed and the small smile he wore fell completely. "It's bad, isn't it...?"

"I... need to run some tests," the vet mumbled in answer. "More now, after the additional energy you exerted just kliks ago."

"I see," the younger autodog sighed, laying down on the table at the other mech's gesture.

"Don't worry, it'll be quick," Ratchet tried to soothe. He picked out the heaviest of the bunch, turning the gadget on and drawing close to Streetwise's side. "And once Brainstorm arrives, we'll be able to figure out a way to help you from the results."

It was kind of the vet to offer him comfort, but the akita's smile could spread no further than his lip components. Hope, after all, was something not really made for beings such as himself...

**xxXxXxx**

Wheeljack whistled to himself as he rode up the elevator, tossing the datapad he held up and down as he waited. It was a slow orn in the department and, for once, the bulldog had finally decided to get his reports done on time. Unfortunately, seeing as he had written them all down on the only free datapad in his lab, which he realized belatedly had a broken port and no wireless capability, he was going to hand-deliver the same datapad to Mainframe directly. Considering the agoraphobic detested receiving anything but digital files, this was going to be a fun drop off! Ah well, the autodog shrugged, getting off the elevator as it reached his supervisor's floor.

With a bounce in his step, the engineer sauntered down the long hall for the lone pair of sliding doors situated on the far end, rapping loudly as he maintained his whistling. "Mainframe? Hey, Mainframe, open up!," he called out, knocking harder when no one answered after a couple kliks. "I know you haven't left the building yet today, so put your fangs away and open the door, ya vampire!"

Nothing still.

Pouting now, the bulldog knocked a third time; a pede tapping away at the ground impatiently. "Mainframe, seriously dude, open up or I'm going to grease every single inch of your- Woah!," Wheeljack cried, taking a stumbling step backwards as the doors suddenly shot open, grazing off a layer of plating from his knuckles in the process. "Hey, what's the-? _Brainstorm?!_ "

"Hey kiddo!," Brainstorm chirped, bounding out from the interior of Mainframe's lab. The tervuren immediately took to leaning against the open doorway like a poster mech for a bad porno, his optics twinkling in mischief. "So, what were you going to be greasing of Mainframe's exactly?"

Wheeljack paused for a moment to laugh boisterously. "Oh, that, it's totally not what it sounds like. Unless you think it sounds like me fragging with somebody's equipment for giggles, in which case, yeah, that's exactly how it is. But that aside," the engineer coughed, reining in his chuckles, "Exactly how and why are you here in Mainframe's lab of all places. He _hates_ strangers in his safety zone!"

"Oh, that," the scientist sighed, straightening up as he waved a servo dismissively, "You see-"

"Brainstorm!," shouted a familiar vocalizer behind the teal autodog. "What the slag are you doing?!"

"Ratchet!," the younger mech greeted cheerfully. "You're here too? What's up!"

Ratchet paused, his mouth open wide to continue yelling at Brainstorm, when he realized that it was Wheeljack standing outside of the labs. "Oh... Wheeljack," the vet grumbled, all the atmosphere escaping him in one heavy vent, "Listen, I'm sorry to break this joyous run-in, but unfortunately we're very busy. Isn't that right, Brainstorm?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, _super busy_ ," the tervuren replied, making rude gestures out of the labrador's sight.

Ratchet obviously was aware of his actions though, because he swatted the other mech upside the helm. "It's your slagging Wrecker business, so the least you could do is try and act professional!," he snapped, "Now say goodbye to your son and let's get back to work! Please!" With a huff, the vet stormed back into Mainframe's lab; the sound of various items being moved about with clangs and clacks.

"Wrecker business, huh?," Wheeljack asked, looking to his sire. Brainstorm nodded, nursing the growing bump on his forehelm with a sour face.

"Unfortunately, yes. Which means I really need to go back or otherwise Yoketron will stick me with some _truly_ boring jobs for the next two years...," the older autodog pouted. "Call you later?"

"Yeah, sure thing! I've got reports to hand in to Mainframe anyhow, so I guess I'll go see where he wandered off to," the engineer mumbled to himself thoughtfully, glancing down at his datapad in question.

Ratchet's vocalizer came drifting out of the lab as he turned to head back to the elevator, bringing the bulldog to a pause. "If you do find the fool, tell him I want to see him as soon as we finish up here for today! The slagging idiot fainted this morning and I need to make sure he doesn't have a concussion."

"Fainted? Again?," Wheeljack gaped, glancing at the teal mech.

"Too much energon down south," Brainstorm winked, shaking with silent laughter at his own joke. Before the younger autodog could respond to that, the tervuren said his farewells and stepped back into Mainframe's labs; the doors rapidly sliding shut once more. Eventually the shock wore off and Wheeljack hurried to the elevator, his processor whirling over the possibility that someone other than himself had caused Mainframe to black out. This would require a trip to the security hub directly for visual confirmation!

**C.M.D: Brainstorm is an ass and Mainframe is hopeless. What fun! Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	36. Rodimus IV

**C.M.D: Been a long time, as per usual. But I did manage to crack out another chapter- and for these two characters, no less! So, I hope this satisfies everyone's need for a little while longer while I try to churn out some more. Enjoy!**

**Title: Rodimus IV**   
**Rating: T**

"Roddy? Ya in?"

Blackout jiggled with the knob for a second, trying to get his poorly-cut copy of the key out of the lock, before pushing the apartment door open further. It was dark -well, as dark as it could be with semi-sheer curtains- not a slagging thing looking as if it had been touched in ages. Baffled, the kittycon shut the door behind him, locking it again for extra measure, then slowly making his way through the unit. There was a layer of dust coating everything and a peek in the fridge showed that all the perishables within had gone to rot. Add to the situation that Rodimus had still had yet to be seen or heard, and Blackout was quickly transitioning from confused to concerned in less than an astrosecond.

Setting down the bag of groceries he'd bought on the kitchen counter, the panther lumbered off for the berthroom next; fuel tanks squirming anxiously at what he might find. After all, he'd lived it rough all his life- he was more than well aware of what fraggery could happen even in one's own home. Cracking the door open brought a disturbing smell to Blackout's olfactory sensors. Twisting away momentarily at the stench, the brown mech steeled himself with a scowl and threw the door the rest of the way open, marching into the even darker berthroom. First thing he noticed was the stripped berth, empty, in the middle of the room. Then the kittycon's beady optics moved slowly across the room, staring at the massive lump hiding under the missing sheets. Drawing up a corner of one revealed the uneven cluster to actually be the entirety of Rodimus' nursery: tub, diaper pail, change table, sheets and toys...

It was all shoved into one chaotic pile.

Before the thug could think of the implications, his ears caught a sound behind him; whirling about, there remained to be nothing else to see in the dim room. "...Roddy?," he called out again, letting the sheet drop over the items once more and striding across the room. He shuffled awkwardly around the berth, trying to peer into the thin space between the mattress and the wall, feeling his intakes catch sharply.

"Hey?! HEY!," Blackout shouted, shoving the berth -frame and all- to the side with one massive claw, dropping to his knees and closing in on the motionless autodog. Rodimus didn't even budge at the awful shriek of metal digging across hardwood, simply laid half-curled up in a ball, his optics barely online and staring vacantly into nothingness. "Are you okay?! Roddy!"

The smaller mech did not reply. Panicked, the panther tried to rack his processor for some sort of clue as to what to do next, and eventually came to the brilliant notion that he should ensure the golden retriever's function. Clumsy and none-too-gently, Blackout rolled Rodimus onto his back, his frantic gaze finding no injuries even as his claws confirmed something of a sparkpulse along the slender throat. "Roddy, what hap-?" The kittycon bit off at his own question, staring down at the clearly emancipated mech, a soft, lavender rabbit doll gripped in off-colour digits.

The bornling. Rodimus' new-sparked pup... Where was it? The thug leaned back an inch, turning his helm about the room in stunned bewilderment, seeing only the same as when he had entered. Bornling things all thrown into one mess, hidden away as if to forget they exist, absolute silence this entire time... Blackout returned his attention to the limp lawyer, finding his neck cables constrict oddly around his vocalizer as he whispered, "...Where is the pup?"

For a moment, the golden retriever continued to lie death-like beneath the larger mech, before something passed over Rodimus' blank expression and his optics filled rapidly with thick, hot tears. "...g-gone...," was all that escaped the autodog, his near non-existent intakes building in pitch suddenly; transforming into a series of terrifying, choking gasps punctuated every so often by wailing keens that ripped right into the core of the thug. Frightened, Blackout pulled away immediately, paying no attention as Rodimus curled back into himself, clutching that little doll to his chestplates as he howled in misery. Several long, shaky kliks passed as the kittycon paced outside of the berthroom, uncertain of what to do or how to feel.

Rodimus' bornling was _gone_...

The mech looked at the brown paper bag still sitting on the counter, filled with trinkets and treats he'd bought with the sole purpose of bribing the lawyer into accepting his company again. What he wouldn't have done just kliks ago to get Rodimus to put Ultra Magnus' pup on the back burner... With a disgusted snarl, Blackout slapped the bag off the counter, watching with no satisfaction as its items scattered across the kitchen floor. His momentary rage was quick to subside when he realized no amount of self-loathing or punishment would bring the bornling back. The panther knew this. Rodimus knew it too. That's why he'd stayed holed up in his apartment; starving and covered in his own refuse of who knew how many orns now, while he wept over his missing son.

Blackout realized he had stopped and was staring at his pedes; the autodog's cries had since distorted into desperate, clutching gasps for atmosphere and less like weeping. Similar to some 'bot on the brink of offlining... Should he go? The panther had to wonder to himself, horribly conflicted. Was all this confusion and run-around really worth it? Rodimus was just one autodog- surely he'd be better off chasing after some tail that _didn't_ dump him in situations that he was emotionally unable to overcome! The idea was tempting... but in a strange moment of empathy, the thug removed his coat and turned on the lights to the bathroom; putting soap and sponges within his reach before turning on the shower. As he left the water to warm up, the kittycon returned to the berthroom, collecting the anguished carrier off the floor from a semi-dried pool of filth and cradling him to his broad chestplates as he headed back to the bathroom.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry," Blackout murmured consolingly into a trembling ear as they left the dark room.

Tears were his only response.

**xxXxXxx**

Over the course of the next few orns, Blackout moved his few possessions into Rodimus' apartment. The autodog did not contest this. After all, how could he? Rodimus still spent most of his time catatonic, breaking out of it periodically; only to recall that his son was gone, dissolve into wretched bawling that lasted for cycles, then have it all fade away back into desolate unawareness again. If it wasn't for the panther being there -to pour cans of luke-warm soup down his slacken jaw and wipe down the autodog's tear-streaked cheekplates- the thug was certain that Rodimus would have become turborat-chow by now.

All the same, this was a difficult situation to find himself in. The brown mech struggled with how to proceed when he knew nothing about what the golden retriever was going through and even less on how to care about another's emotional well-being. Oh, and cooking and cleaning. Those were definitely not... strengths... of his. Step one, Blackout at least could figure out, was not to leave Rodimus alone again. A carrier without their bornling was one of the cruelest realities that could ever exist. The kittycon had known his own share of such 'bots back in the ghettos; they never were the same after and always came to the same resolution- some sooner than others. Blackout was adamant that he didn't want to find the autodog in the newspapers one morning. So, the thug grabbed his things from the pit he squatted in with some other vagrants and made his home on the lawyer's couch. With cable at hand and Rodimus nearby, it was almost comfortable.

And that was probably where the kittycon made his biggest mistake.

Soft, tickling sensations traced across his lower abdomen, causing Blackout to startle awake. His optics unable to process his dark surroundings just yet, he lashed out immediately, earning a shocking yelp instead of the usual squeak of a turborat. "Wha-? You?!," the larger mech spluttered, visual pixels finally adjusting to the blackness. He watched as Rodimus, half-dressed, began to pick himself up off the floor; his blue orbs intense on a blank face.

Trying to decide on what question to ask first, Blackout barely managed to grab the autodog's arms as he suddenly lunged forward, slender fingers attempting to yank the other mech's unzipped pants down. "When did you-?," the panther grunted, a growl escaping as Rodimus put up a wild fight at being restrained. "What the slag do you think you're doing?! You should be sleeping!"

"I'll sleep after," the lawyer replied; the first real words he'd said in orns. His vocalizer sounded off, probably still roughened from cycles of mourning, but it was the way that Rodimus was saying everything that truly disturbed the thug.

"Come on," the golden retriever added, a clear hint of obsession highlighting his otherwise flat tone. "I thought you wanted this. My panels are open. I'm not saying 'no'. Frag me as much as you want."

At any other point, hearing such confidently delivered lines would have had the brown mech jerking out of his pants faster than one could blink, but now... Blackout honestly felt sick to his fuel tanks. "You're not thinking right," he replied, shoving Rodimus back a few steps so he could clamber up onto his pedes. The moment he was free of the other's claws, the autodog flashed forward; pressing himself up against the panther lewdly, one leg curling around a thigh and one servo sliding down the front of the thug's open pants.

"Stop that!" The larger mech hissed, grabbing the lawyer by the scruff of his neck cables and yanking him an arm's length away aggressively. With one servo, he awkwardly zipped his fly back up, giving his pants a little extra tug to make sure they were on his hips proper. "You just- You don't know what you're saying."

"I do, I really do," Rodimus protested, writhing, trying to escape the kittycon's tight grasp. His optics remained brightly lit in frantic desire, roving all over the thug's frame, but always circulating around his pelvis. "This is my choice. Don't you see? I won't be mad. Just, let's do this -you want this, too. Frag me. Overload as much as you want in me. I promise I won't get mad. C'mon!"

There was no heat scent like any other times prior. This unsettling madness to frag someone that he rarely deigned to even acknowledge... Blackout knew what this was really about and it took all of his focus not too accidentally choke the red mech as he wrestled with his own conflicting emotions. "I know what you think you want... What you think I can give you," the panther mumbled, adjusting his grip so he could lift the lawyer off the ground safely while still maintaining their current distance, "But it won't replace your pup. I'm sorry."

One moment, Rodimus was wriggling and persuading like a love-sick fool; the next, he'd turned absolutely feral, spitting and twisting to try and bite or claw where he could. The brown mech did the only thing possible: threw the golden retriever into his room and slammed the door shut, holding it like that as Rodimus went on a screaming rampage on the other side. Several kliks later, the autodog's fit had eventually passed, and in its stead returned the spark-wrenching mournful cries of a sparkling-less carrier. Blackout could only stand there for the next few cycles, listening with nauseating guilt as the tears never seemed to cease.

He'd love nothing more than to have the lawyer swollen with his own bornling, but this was not a solution. It would simply result in Rodimus loathing him even more and another sparkling born into a hate-filled environment. No new spark, especially kittycon, would _ever_ replace the one the autodog had lost. When everything had gone silent, and morning sunlight burned brightly through the windows, Blackout decided now was as good a time as any for a walk. Grabbing both sets of keys and his coat, with heavy shoulders the panther exited the apartment, wondering if he should even come back.

**xxXxXxx**

Blackout had locked the door and left again. He could tell.

Whining pitifully in the back of his vocalizer, Rodimus tried for the umpteenth time to escape, but he could not budge the panther's rigid barricade still. Shoulder plating and fingers aching, the autodog collapsed to his knees before the pitted wood, whimpering into the door panel. Why couldn't the brown mech just let him out? He didn't want to cause trouble -just one frag is all he needed! Or several. Or however many that Blackout wanted!

It didn't matter to the golden retriever. He just wanted to feel the heft in his abdomen again; bear witness to the thudding of tiny pedes kicking up against his spark chamber. Right now, there was nothing. It was _so empty_ inside... He didn't want to be so hollow...

With renewed passion, Rodimus attacked the door again; breaking the knob in the process with his kicking and ramming, to no avail. Blackout was being so difficult! He wanted this -anyone would want this! If he could only just get out, the lawyer could find easily find this 'anyone' to give him what the stupid panther was selfishly denying the red mech. It was only right after all. A bornling deserved to be within him...

A chill was dragging its way over his frame, undeniable now despite the warmth of the afternoon sun spilling into the room. It gummed up the autodog's motions, slowly drew him to another pause; hugging himself to drive away the worst of the frostbite. He just needed to get this door open. If he could get out, he'd...

"C-come back...," Rodimus croaked, a sob tripping his glossa. He wasn't sure who he was even calling for at this moment, just- "Co-come... b-back..." The golden retriever curled further into himself as the tears swelled in his optics, words disintegrating into broken whimpers.

**xxXxXxx**

It was grocery orn.

Blackout browsed the super market shelves dully, scanning for anything that seemed half decent of a meal and didn't require any effort on his part. He'd already burnt out the bottom of one of Rodimus' pots trying to cook pasta... Alas, there didn't seem to be much beyond what was already gathered in his shopping cart, so the panther looped back around to grab a couple more bushels of cherries and bananas and canned soups. He only wished he knew more what sort of foods the lawyer liked... Aside from chocolate sauce and onions, Blackout hadn't a clue, and he wasn't going to make the mistake of getting those two items again. The reaction he'd gotten out of poor Rodimus a couple weeks back... The kittycon shivered despite himself, fists curling around the shopping cart handle so tight the metal crumpled. Primus, why did the autodog have to be the one to suffer a lost bornling?

The thug grunted in frustration, heading up the soup aisle. He was going to have to figure something out for Rodimus soon enough too. He couldn't keep locking the red mech in his own apartment every time he left; and he certainly didn't feel like having to sleep with one optic open, afraid the desperate autodog would come for his spike in the middle of the night. Foolishly, Blackout thought Rodimus might have moved on from grieving... Clearly, that wasn't going to happen any time soon. So what could he do, the brown mech thought, loading up his cart and walking on. If he could even find someone to help Rodimus -and not by getting in his pants- where would that put him? Could he still keep around the golden retriever if he was being taken care of by a nut-vet? Would they, or even the autodog himself, allow it?

Blackout paused for a moment, frowning down at the floor. He knew he shouldn't be thinking like that... After all, Rodimus' health was first and foremost! But... But he just didn't want to be shoved aside again, slaggit! He could be the lawyer's rock; he'd already shown that he would stick around no matter what the situation. Rodimus just needed to heal from this tragedy and then he could see that the panther was perfect for him! Well, okay, maybe not _perfect_ per say, still-

The brown mech's train of thought ground to a stop, his optics shuttering in puzzlement. What had distracted him? There it was again... Some sort of buzzing. The kittycon looked around, but he was alone beside the produce stand, and the sound was so soft only to come from close by. Absentmindedly, Blackout padded down his frame; slipping a servo into his coat pocket and withdrawing a cellphone. He had forgotten that he'd taken it from Rodimus the first time he'd caught the frantic mech trying to call someone. He must have slipped it into his pocket and never gave it another thought since...

The buzzing was coming from the phone. Blackout shuttered his optics at the device densely, before flipping open the cover and holding it up to his helm. He didn't even get a chance to grunt out a greeting before a horribly _familiar_ vocalizer was grumbling at him.

"Rodimus, please," came Ultra Magnus' stern words, "This is getting _ridiculous_. You're avoiding my phone calls, refusing to reply to Blackarachnia's correspondence... I'm just trying to remedy things between us. Stop all of this foolishness at once and come home! _Our son_ -and you _know_ that Hot Shot is mine as well- needs a stable family. If you can promise to reform from this juvenile path, than I'll be happy to grant you more than visitation rights. I shall even-"

The rest of the autodog's sentence was cut off by the crunching of the cellphone. Cycling intakes heavily, Blackout stared down at his shaking claws, his gaze murderous as he studied each fractured piece of plastic slicing his palm.

**xxXxXxx**

"Magnus not in yet?," Jazz asked, leaning over Optimus' desk.

The secretary sighed, marking the last of his files and setting them aside for sorting later. "He's had a lot of late mornings the last several orns," he replied, looking up at his friend. "I'm growing concerned it may have something to do with..."

"With Rodimus' running off?," the dalmation finished when the other autodog trailed off.

"Yeah," Optimus added weakly, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. There was little joy in it though. "I know I shouldn't blame myself, but since the twins have finished their schooling, I've had nothing _but_ time to keep remembering that day; I keep beating myself up over it each time for not noticing that something was wrong with Rodimus. And with it nearing that 'anniversary', I worry Ultra Magnus might be-"

A loud crash interrupted the german shepherd mid-sentence; the sound of a confrontation, followed by a thud so ferocious it rattled the walls a little, before the beat of stomping pedes rushed in the direction of the pair. Immediately, Jazz moved into a defensive position in front of Optimus' desk, a servo on the taser clipped to his belt. Just in time for a colossal, brown kittycon to round the corner.

"Where's the fragger!," the stranger roared, approaching like a living hurricane.

"Sir, you need to sign in at the front desk and wait for a guide before- Ah, slag this!," Jazz spat, whipping the taser out when he saw the panther showed no signs of stopping.

He aimed and shot, in a fraction of an astrosecond, catching the trespasser dead-centre in the chestplates. There was a pop and a loud buzz as the lines activated, small sparks showing visibly, but instead of stumbling and writhing like most did at the taser's sting, the kittycon only grew more enraged. With a spark-clutching bellow, he ripped the pins free, lunging at the security guard. Jazz barley managed to throw his arms up, yelping loudly when a clawed fist slapped down his guard, followed by a left hook that sent the dalmation slamming into the adjacent wall. Watching his friend go limp, Optimus felt fear overcome his entire frame... and along with it, a clarity he hadn't experienced in a long time.

"Where is he?," the stranger growled, turning to the secretary next. "Where is that fragger Magnus?!"

"Who?," the german shepherd asked calmly, a servo roaming quietly over his desk, just out of sight.

The panther snarled, almost appearing to triple in size as he bore down on the autodog. "Listen you glitch, I gotta score to settle with that rust-stain and if you're gonna stand in my way, I'll snap your scrawny, lil' neck t-!"

The brown mech stumbled on the last word of his threat, staring down at the pen that clattered between his pedes. Three more were quick to join it; two bouncing off his chestplates, the last on his ear. His attention snapping upwards, the kittycon hissed when he saw Optimus standing there stubbornly, a stapler in his servo. This time when the stranger lunged, the secretary was expecting it. He kept his balance as the panther barrelled down the hall, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes at the last astrosecond, legs shooting up and vaulting the larger mech over and into the floor with a resounding crash.

Rolling back onto his pedes, Optimus let his self-defense reflexes take over, whipping the stapler successfully between the kittycon's optics and backing up cautiously as it stunned the other from moving for a few astroseconds.

"You fragging glitch!," the kittycon cussed, fishing inside his coat aggressively. "That cradle-robbing piece of slag is gonna _pay_ for stealing Roddy's pup and YOU ARE NOT GOING TO STOP ME!"

The sight of a gun wiped Optimus' processor clear of any other thoughts; tremors shooting down the german shepherd's spinal struts as the iron muzzle was pointed directly at him. Even his rusty training couldn't protect him from a gunshot wound in an open space with no obstacles.

"I would strongly advise against that unless you have just reason to harm an innocent bystander," a firm vocalizer rang out, startling both mechs.

Hazarding a glance behind him, the secretary was alarmed to find Alpha Trion walking towards them calmly. "Mayor, please, don't!," Optimus attempted to warn. "He's-"

"Armed?," Alpha Trion asked. "These optics may be old, but not so old to mistake a pistol when I see one. Do not fret over me, young Optimus. I don't think our guest will use it -not if he needs help. You do need help... _don't you?_ "

The older autodog was speaking to the kittycon now, his steady gaze causing the stranger to fluster and drop his weapon an inch. "...I got business with Magnus," the panther answered gruffly, eyeing the mayor up and down with suspicion.

"Unfortunately, I do not believe he is in at the moment," Alpha Trion replied, rolling a finger in his long length of beard, "But maybe I can help you with your 'business'; no jail time included. Deal?" It was a long, harrowing wait before the brown mech put his gun away entirely, grumbling something under his intakes as he headed towards the mayor. As he passed Optimus, the two shared a glare.

"Mayor, sir, I really don't think-," the secretary began.

"It's okay, Optimus," the older autodog repeated placidly, smiling at the secretary. "Right now, your friend Jazz needs medical assistant. Please see that he is taken care of. Oh," Alpha Trion added, as he turned to walk away with the trespasser, "If you'd be so kind to not report our guest for the time being, I'd be much obliged."

"...yes, sir," Optimus sighed in agreement after a tense moment. He still did not trust the mayor's decision, despite the other autodog's eccentricities, but he was right. Jazz needed his help; he was priority number one right now. Helping the dalmation to his pedes, mindful of the arm pierced by the taser's prongs, Optimus led them down the hall to the main entrance.

"Hey...," Jazz mumbled, still a little disoriented from the panther's strike, "D-did he say... R-roddy... as i-in, Rodimus...?"

Optimus stopped abruptly, his optics flaring in shock.


	37. Blast Off and Cosmos IX

**C.M.D: It's update period! And for October, I've only got two, but extra large, chapters to share with all of you! We'll start off with our favourite space muffin and his statue of a mech, and finish with another fan favourite, poor, angsty Roddy! There is a little "berthroom fun" included in this update, so as always, you can find the censored version up on ff.net (link in my profile). Moving on... Please enjoy this bigger-than-average treat and happy reading, dear followers!**

**Title: Blast Off and Cosmos IX  
Rating: M**

It was almost impossible to believe that he was sparked.

After all that crying, fretting, praying... Yet, one little stick had told the pyrenees just that. Cosmos kept the pregnancy test hidden away in a drawer in the berthroom, pulling out the container he used to house it and prying back the lid every time he needed to reassure himself. Unfortunately, the precious plus symbol faded from the plastic readout after a couple weeks and in a panic, Cosmos rushed to the nearest drugstore and bought every test off the shelf.

Then he hurried back home, taking another test right away, feeling his spark settle down as the results came out positive again. This lasted for a month before Blast Off caught onto the autodog's anxiety-induced habit. Calmly, the kittycon suggested a trip to the vet, where upon the clinic was happy to perform an ultrasound for the couple. Circuits sparking nervously, Cosmos had laid on the berth, ever so terrified that the nurses would find nothing.

What if he'd read the test wrong? Or imagined the whole thing?!

But then there was a blip and the monitor screen near his helm flashed to life; a small, forming shape could be seen, hardly bigger than a grape.

"The bornling's coming along nicely," the nurse smiled down on the stunned mech. "In a few months, we'll do another scan and see who the lil' 'bot is going to be!"

They went home shortly after that; the pyrenees clutching the printed sonogram image to his chestplates the entire way. When they were finally in the safety of their home, Cosmos could hold back no longer, and he bawled as Blast Off gently led him to the couch. He was happy. So overwhelmed with joy. Cuddled in his bondmate's long arms, the autodog smiled, fat, merry tears sliding down his face as he buried it into the siamese's chestplates.

**xxXxXxx**

Blast Off was a 'bot of tradition and formality.

"Family," the siamese announced, standing in the living room doorway, one servo cradling his bondmate's, "We are happy to announce that Cosmos is expecting."

Skydive leapt to his pedes immediately at the news, accidentally dislodging the bottle from Motormaster's mouth. The black bornling glowered for an astrosecond at his interrupted feeding, before bursting out into angry wails. The shih tzu was quick to deposit him in Onslaught's arms before racing over. "Congratulations!," the blue mech squealed, hugging Cosmos. "Oh this is fantastic news! Isn't it, Onslaught?"

"Of course," the serval gruffed, rising to his pedes slowly. He juggled the twins precariously as he did; two bottles clenched in his fists. "But if I may...?"

"O-oh, sorry!," Skydive apologized, rushing back over to grab Motormaster. The autodog's optics still shimmered in joy and his tail beat a rapid pattern behind himself. "Let me go get tea! Cosmos, do you want tea? Cookies? Oh, are you having cravings yet?"

"N-no, I-i," the astronomer stuttered, greatly overwhelmed by the attention he was getting, "I-i mean, it's e-early and I haven't... Craved... u-umm..."

"It's alright," Onslaught interjected, gently urging his excited bondmate to the kitchen. Skydive took off like a rocket, bouncing an unhappy mechling on his hip. Readjusting Dragstrip in his arms, the kittycon approached the couple, beaming as he grabbed Blast Off's servo in a firm shake. "This is very good news. Congratulations, Cosmos. I know you'll make a great carrier; my son is lucky to have you."

"L-luck- O-oh, I-i-i don't t-th-think I-i'm-," the pyreness blushed, feeling unworthy of the older mech's praise.

Gentle claws silenced his self-deprecating words, drawing Cosmos even closer to the siamese's side. "Thank you, Dad," Blast Off said, the additional suffix shocking to both mechs. The tall mech turned his helm downwards, his grey optics staring deep into the astronomer's own. "There is no one else as precious as Cosmos; I'd know no happiness without him."

Vision filling with happy tears, Cosmos pressed his face into the siamese's open palm, hearing faintly as Onslaught coughed uncomfortably. "Yes, well... I'm just happy for the flux of grandchildren! Didn't think I'd ever have any, what with the set of blocks your brothers and you have for helms...," the serval grumbled. His tone changed as a smile returned to his face. "I just hope you know that Skydive will want to throw you a bornling shower."

Cosmos perked up at the words in alarm. "B-bornling shower?!," he yipped.

"We can even have it here in my backyard," Onslaught suggested, "Or rent a hall. Whatever suits you better. Our guest list will be fairly small but I'm sure your parents will want to be there, and any other friends and relatives."

"Pa-parents?!" The pyrenees had nearly forgotten about his own creators. Oh, the squealing Lightbright would make when she heard the news...

"That sounds agreeable," Blast Off agreed, nodding his helm. "My gratitude, again."

"Are you talking about a bornling shower?," Skydive piped up, coming back to the living room in a hurry. He was barely aware of the tea tray swaying precariously in his own servo as he trapped his wriggling son to his chestplates. "I want to plan it! Oh, please, let me!"

"I will provide you with Cosmos' creators contact information tomorrow," the brown kittycon said, grabbing the tray before it tipped. "I'm sure Mrs. Lightbright would like to also be involved in her son's bornling shower, once we visit them in the morning with the good news."

"Of course, no problem," the shih tzu replied. His tail was wagging away like mad and he was even beginning to sound a little winded in his excitement. "Oh, we should go shopping together- I know some of the best stores and where you can get some yummy treats when the cravings kick in!"

"O-okay...," Cosmos hesitantly smiled, letting Skydive drag him to the couch. Seated between the other autodog and his bondmate, the pyrenees couldn't help but realize how he'd come to view this place as much a home as the one his creators owned. A sensation he had never thought he'd experience.

It seemed Blast Off wasn't the only lucky 'bot.

**xxXxXxx**

"Congratulations!"

A squeak escaped the pyrenees as an explosion of confetti erupted in his face, thankful for his bondmate's quick response at batting away the worse of the glittery paper that cluttered his field of vision. "W-wha... What is t-this?," Cosmos stuttered, looking around the large convention hall. A series of teal, silk sheets swept across the ceiling, matching the two dozen round tables, decorated with giant pretend baby bottles, pacifiers and diaper-pin confetti. Even the three long, buffet tables were covered in the same theme, between an excessively large quantity of food. And that wasn't counting the several dozen or so guests, either. "Momma?! I said a 'small gathering'!"

"Oh, don't be mad, honey pie," Lightbright chirped, tossing her confetti popper towards Dug Base as she pulled her son into a hug. "I just wanted this to be the best party ever! My baby is having babies. Besides, you didn't let me plan your wedding!"

"B-because I knew y-you'd get c-carried away, just like this," Cosmos choked, trying to wriggle free from his carrier's hold. He turned desperate optics towards his sire. "Dad! Please, help!"

Chuckling, the mountain dog stepped forward, gently prying his bondmate off of the astronomer. "Come on, sweetie. You're gonna strangle the pup if you keep that up. Besides, don't you want him to enjoy the party you and that Skydive spent so long planning?," Dug Base asked.

"Oh my- Of course! Of course!," the femme replied, giving her son a little push. "Go; mingle! I'm going to familiarize myself with all your friends and in-laws too. Good thing I brought the photo album!" And then she was off; racing towards the nearest group of party-goers, a servo already pulling a large binder out of her purse.

"Dad!," Cosmos squeaked, servos covering his face in embarrassment.

"Don't worry," Dug Base smiled, "It's only your bornling and wedding photos in that album. I made her leave the really embarrassing photos at home." He patted the top of his inconsolable son's helm. "And just to be safe, I'll keep an optic on the grandma-to-be. Go have fun, son."

His sire bent down and kissed the pyrenees' forehelm, giving a polite nod to Blast Off, before the large autodog lumbered off in Lightbright's general direction. Cosmos surveyed the hall with a sigh, rubbing the spot where Dug Base had kissed him awkwardly. "I-i just... It's a lot of people," he mumbled, turning slightly to Blast Off.

The kittycon was gently massaging his shoulders, the softest hint of tenderness visible in those grey optics for Cosmos alone. At the sight of it, the autodog felt a giddy smile start to tug at the corners of his mouth. "The number is several more than we had anticipated," Blast Off agreed, "But all present are family and friends. There are no strangers here, nor will I allow-"

A thunderous crash interrupted the siamese -Brawl had discovered the dessert table. An exasperated huff escaping the brown mech, Blast Off leaned down and pecked his bondmate quickly. "Please excuse me," he apologized. "There is a punch table in the left corner, empty at the moment. I made sure the beverages were to your preference." And then he was straightening up; moving across the room quickly to assist Onslaught in reigning in Brawl's wild rampage.

Cosmos opened his mouth to beg his partner to stay... but he couldn't find the words fast enough, plus, he knew that Blast Off had to help. The serval was his brother after all. Rubbing nervous circles into his growing belly, the astronomer hurried across the room, doing his best to avoid being spotted by the few gathered groups, chatting amiably amongst themselves. He wasn't particularly thirsty but he hoped that he could distract himself long enough with the punch bowl until Blast Off was free once again to join him. It was just his luck that another mech was approaching the table at the same time the pyrenees was.

"Oh...," the devon rex huffed, pausing as he spotted Cosmos.

"H-hi," the green mech smiled back shyly. "Y-you're um... S-swindle, right? Blast Off's brother."

Purple optics rolled at the question, grabbing a cup off the table. "Yeah. And you're my brother's 'beau'," Swindle replied dully, filling his glass to the top. "So word is you're sparked too."

"Y-yes," Cosmos stuttered, playing with his fingers as he dropped his gaze to the floor, "I s-should be due s-six months after y-you and-"

"Oh, Primus, yeah," the kittycon groaned loudly, "Then the nightmare really begins. It's so fragging unfair that we have to suffer this slag. I mean cravings are bearable granted you're not mixing weird things like chocolate and onions, but the nausea? Dizzy spells? Purging your tanks every night at three in the morning?! And we can't even  _abort_  the lil' scraplets 'cause of Onslaught and his slagging over-bearing 'pro-life' attitude!"

Swindle paused to throw back his drink, angrily refilling it afterwards. "Thank Unicron I'm already more than half-way through it. Did you know some 'bots actually want this? They even keep the parasite after too, treating it like some sort of rare gem! Don't you think that's so fragging insane?," he asked, snapping his helm toward the silent autodog. His sneer fell the moment he noticed the wide, tearful optics staring back at him silently. "A-and... and clearly you're, u-uh, one of them... E-excuse me..." And with an uncomfortable cough, the kittycon was waddling away rapidly with his half-finished glass, leaving behind the devastated Cosmos.

Insane? Parasitic? Was... was that all true? Was he sick in the helm for wanting this? Yellow fingers clutched at his abdomen tightly, the autodog's intakes sputtering into a choking hyperventilation. Maybe this really  _was_  a bad idea. After all, what did he know about having a bornling? Or raising one, for that matter? He'd just screw it up somehow, the pyrenees knew, then the authorities would come and take his bornling away and they'd deem him unfit to work ever again and Blast Off would leave him because he was such a failure and he'd be alone again... Biting back the sob that nearly escaped, Cosmos shuffled out of the party quickly. He just knew that the dam of tears was about to break forth any moment and he could not bear the thought of having everyone present see him for the worthless wreck he was when it did.

He made it as far as the bathroom doors before he could silence his cries no longer.

**xxXxXxx**

"I'm back," Blast Off greeted, gently closing the apartment door behind himself.

"W-welcome," Cosmos huffed, shifting on the couch cushion. He thought to get up but couldn't find the strength in his aching frame, so resigned himself to his spot, watching the t.v miserably.

"There's been no change still?," his bondmate asked, crossing the room. He put down the bag of groceries on the coffee table, shifting the empty noodle cups and teapot to one side neatly before sitting down beside the pyrenees. Cosmos only shook his helm in response, trembling servos clutching at his swelling belly.

"N-no," he whimpered. "I don't understand why he doesn't c-come out... H-he's fully grown now!"

"Perhaps," Blast Off replied, stroking at a soft ear tenderly, "The bornling does not want to."

That did little to calm the hormonal astronomer. "B-but I've tried everything," Cosmos wailed, tears collecting thickly along his optics, "Spicy food, e-exercise, teas... Why won't he come out already?! Doesn't he want me as his momma? I bet he doesn't. I bet he hates me!"

The siamese responded immediately, grabbing the autodog from under his thighs and pulling him up to his chestplates. Cosmos buried his face into the other mech's shirt as soon as he was close, his hiccuping cries muffled between the fabric. "The bornling does not hate you," Blast Off soothed, his fingers stroking down his bondmate's back and through his tail. "On the contrary, you've made such a pleasant home for our cub in your womb that he does not want to leave. And who can blame him? The outside world is not as kind or safe as the one you've provided for him all this time."

The pyrenees sniffled as the kittycon spoke, his tears ebbing yet still ready to fall at a moment's notice. "B-but...," he mumbled, nuzzling shyly into Blast Off's shirt as those larger servos continued to pet him, "I-i really want him to come out. I w-want to hold him in my arms, hug a-and kiss his l-little face, and hear a-all his little sounds and... a-and... I-it's just not the same when he's o-only inside me..."

The brown mech was silent for a long klik as he held his distraught partner, before he pulled away a few inches, turning Cosmos' face up toward him. "Our bornling will come -whether it be tomorrow or in a few orns time. But," he added when the astronomer opened his mouth in protest, "If you'd like to try and aid the process along, there is one thing we have yet to try."

"W-what... What's that?," the autodog asked dubiously, his exhausted processor scrambling through the list of suggestions he recalled from his birthing class. His mind blanked though as the claws at his chin suddenly trailed down his frame, stirring up a stifling heat as warm lip components captured his own.

"Interfacing," the siamese's sultry vocalizer supplied when they finally parted again.

Cosmos flushed instantly, pushing away from his bondmate and covering his face in embarrassment. He forgot he was supported by Blast Off's servos though and, obviously, could not get very far before his bondmate was pressing soft kisses about his lowered helm. "It has been a long time since we last connected...," the kittycon said, fangs nibbling on the edge of one of the autodog's soft ears, drawing a breathless gasp from his partner, "I will respect your choice if you decline, though."

It really had been a long time since they had last been intimate. Nearly the whole pregnancy, Cosmos noted. Between morning sickness, aches and pains, dizzy spells and general exhaustion, the autodog had not been capable of wanting to frag the siamese, let alone think about it. Of course, Blast Off had never demanded anything of him either; dedicating himself instead to taking care of his lover's every need and desire so as to save the smaller mech any trouble. Reminded now of their unintended celibacy and the way that the kittycon had pampered him all this time, turned the astronomer's budding arousal into a raging inferno; engulfing him in an intoxicating spell of heat that needed to be sated, immediately and preferably  _roughly._

Shivering in newfound lust, the autodog pressed into his bondmate, brazenly kissing at the long neck. "P-please," he whimpered, fists tightening in Blast Off's shirt, "Please, d-do it. F-frag me.  _Now_."

Grey ears perked upright at the desperate whine, astroseconds before a heat scent flooded over Blast Off. Fangs partially bared, he cycled an intake deeply, reveling in the sweet musk. He had never smelled anything so delicious before in his life and it shoved aside all sanity and propriety as a primal beast took control over him. He had Cosmos' robe ripped off before the smaller mech could even shutter his optics, leaving marks all over his neck cables and chestplates as he groped his bondmate's naked thighs and aft hungrily. He wanted to devour the astronomer right then and there, and judging by the way Cosmos keened and writhed in the kittycon's grasp, it was obvious that the swollen autodog wanted the same thing. Rising to his pedes as they shared another wild, starving kiss, Blast Off crossed the apartment in several easy strides, depositing the pyrenees on the berth in their room hurriedly.

The astronomer grunted weakly as the whole world flipped around him, anxious servos searching for his lover's plating. He shivered, swallowing a whimper, as those large claws grasped him firmly, guiding Cosmos' every movement. The autodog had only just realized he was on his servos and knees, a pillow tucked under his hips to arch them upwards, taking the weight off of his pregnant belly, when he felt something hot and wet lap heavily up his aft, from the front seam of his codpiece all the way up to the base of his tail. With a wanton sob, the plating snapped back, baring his hungry valve to the kittycon as a glob of lubricant rushed forward. Blast Off growled somewhere from behind the pyrenees, creating chills down that small back, before the siamese was pressed against it. As one, they cried, brought to revelation at the point of their connection.

Yet, it was still not enough. The flames of desire had only been stoked and Cosmos trembled, longing to be brought to completion by his sparkmate. With a single pull, Blast Off was already complying to his partner's silent wishes. He grabbed at the pyrenees' tail -that gorgeous, soft fur that was so fluffed that it spilled between his claws- using it as an anchor as he snapped his hips forward again, growling pleasantly at the hiccuping whimper Cosmos gave. Tenderness was farthest from the kittycon's processor; he was devoid of shame. Firmly, he took hold of the autodog's thigh, unwilling to relinquish his tail either as he gave another thrust, climbing quickly into a maddening tempo. Beneath him, Cosmos clawed at the sheets, twisting and tugging so hard that they threatened to tear, his whole body drenched in condensation and his valve flooding with even more fluid. For a moment, the pleasure crashed to a slamming halt as Blast Off slid forward, striking against the back of his valve, right into the swollen ring dividing his reproduction tanks.

It was only for a moment though- a choke for air before the swell of the tide swept the poor swimmer back under- and Cosmos never stood a chance. The louder he cried, the harder the kittycon pounded him until the autodog forgot he was already hilt-deep, so hungry to take everything Blast Off had to offer within him. The room filled with the heady scent of heat, driving the two intoxicated mechs further into their addiction; every squelch, every keen, every growl and worrisome creak of the berth below merely gasoline to untameable flame. Cosmos felt his vocalizer begin to wane, worn raw from his ever increasing screams, not knowing for how long he'd been the personal fleshlight of his powerful mate. He couldn't beg to overload, couldn't beg to stop -not that he ever would. His frame trembled in wanton lust as Blast Off moved, adjusting the angle and driving harder into the grasping folds of the autodog's valve, pushing the pyrenees into overload.

The little mech wailed to the ceiling above, the whole world tumbling and turning violently before his optics in a swirl of bright shimmers and neon colours. The kittycon did not slow down though... He continued to frag his hapless victim, lubricants sloshing out of the fluttering valve as he drove the over-sensitized nodes to plunge the autodog into another overload... then another... before the brown mech slammed his hips aggressively against Cosmos' hiked aft; growling while his spike spurted heavy streams of transfluid deep inside, seeking to fill the reproduction tank of the claimed mech. It took several long kliks before Blast Off recalled that his bondmate was already sparked and he gently withdrew, concerned for the astronomer's well-being after having lost control of himself.

"Cosmos...?," the soft vocalizer prodded, claws moving the damp ears out of the pyrenees' face. "Cosmos, I apologize... Are you hurt? Can I do something?"

The green mech wanted to assure his lover that he was not hurt (in fact, every circuit in his frame twitched spastically, sore, but his valve still thrummed with heat and pleasure, quietly begging to be filled again soon) yet could not find a way to grasp at the sound of words through his heavy pants. Primus, how he felt so open and... Something twisted in his tanks and Cosmos shifted weakly, trying to circle a servo around his suddenly nauseous abdomen.

"Cosmos?" Blast Off noted the slight change in the autodog right away and he hurried to roll the astronomer over with as much care as possible. "Where does it hurt?," the siamese questioned, his brow furrowed in worry as he looked his mate over. Little scratches from his claws and fangs littered Cosmos' frame; the berth beneath damp from the spilled fluids of their wild tryst.

As the brown mech looked for anything unusual among the mess, he saw as a trickle of energon slowly gushed out from between Cosmos. Spark halting for a moment, Blast Off felt relief crack his normally cool demeanor when the frightening show of energon was followed by an equally-coloured, but gummy, bit of slime slipping out of his partner's valve. "You've shed your proto-plug," he informed, after studying the viscous goop for a few moments.

"I-i... Wha?," Cosmos huffed, clutching at his swollen belly as the nausea quickly grew to a crushing clawing at his tanks.

"It means you are going into labor," the kittycon explained, giving the autodog a kiss on his forehelm as he helped him move to the edge of the berth. "You will be holding your bornling very soon."

The pyrenees wished he could have been happier to hear that. But all the wondrous bliss from their interfacing had rapidly disappeared, leaving only the smaller mech's aching hips and the painful rippling of his abdomen, growing more intense by the klik. "C-can we get to t-the hospital?  _P-please?_ ," Cosmos hiccuped, hit by another spike in contractions.

Blast Off nodded, wiping his lover down quickly and dressing him in a clean robe for the trip. Shouldering their overnight bag, he gently picked up his mate, cradling him as was most comfortable to the autodog before hurrying out of the apartment.

**xxXxXxx**

By the time they had reached the hospital, the contractions had transformed from uncomfortable to downright unbearable. "S-Stop! STOP!," Cosmos shrieked, trying to hug his abdomen and shove away from Blast Off, all at once. "P-please! PRIMUS! Make it STOP!"

Personnel were racing through the emergency ward, swarming around the kittycon as he tried to keep his grip on the squirming autodog; all attention on the odd pair. "He's well into his contractions. Nearly a klik apart now," Blast Off informed loudly, as the astronomer began a new retinue of wheezing sobs and high-pitched pleas for help. "The proto-plug flushed out of him thirty kliks ago; he is past his due date by eight orns."

Two of the nurses tore away from the group, rushing to a side wall where empty gurneys were kept for situations such as this. They ran back over, the substitute berth clacking and clanging loudly, while the rest of the staff yelled at each other just under Cosmos' screaming; a vet and two other nurses reaching up and trying to tug the pyrenees free from his mate's hold. Anger flashed through the siamese's optics as their callous actions caused the autodog to shift, producing another painful shriek, before he shook them off and set Cosmos on the gurney himself.

"You, you, you and you," the vet shouted as he reoriented himself, pointing at a few of the staff, "Come with me! The rest of you, back to your stations. We need to get the patient to the birth ward- STAT!"

"IT HURTS," the green mech wailed pitifully. "I-it HURTS! I-i don't want it anymore; I DON'T WANT THIS! Ge-get it out of me! PLEASE! GET IT OUT! I D-DON'T WANT IT!"

Blast Off pushed through the smaller throng now surrounding his bondmate's gurney, grabbing one of Cosmos' servos and squeezing tight. "It'll pass, Cosmos," the brown mech soothed, wanting to grab the small astronomer and hold him close. Alas, it would not save him from the pain he was currently suffering, and that, coupled with the physical sight of the pyrenees' twisted and coolant-drenched face, brought an upsetting chill to the kittycon's spark. He felt so  _useless_...

"Excuse us!," the vet snarled, slapping their servos apart and pushing the taller mech away. "Nurses! Elevator, NOW!"

Murder crossed the siamese's processor in that instant, his claws raising to grab the vet's helm and twist it from his pretentious shoulders, before they paused half an astrosecond after; Blast Off displeased to know how quickly he had made this uncomfortable scene an even more unpleasant one. The hospital staff were simply doing their jobs, he told himself. The vet might have possibly been near the end of a long and exhausting shift. The brown mech's optics were thin slits as he hurried after his mate's entourage, knowing exactly where they were going and which elevator system they would take. Blast Off would brush off the vet's foolish actions for now; his only priority was to get back to Cosmos' side and stand there as his pillar of strength while the pyrenees' delivered their son upon this world.

Blast Off kept this in the forefront of his processor as he sped up the hospital stairs, practically shooting out onto the birthing ward. He caught a glimpse of Comso's gurney down the opposite end of the hall, turning into one of the rooms, and the siamese increased his pace; pushing past the security doors as if they never existed. Shouts of surprise erupted from the nurses' station as he rushed by it, closing on to the door that the astronomer had been wheeled into. Cosmos' screams echoed out of the birthing suite in confirmation, calling to Blast Off. Before the brown mech could even set one pede into the room though, the vet from earlier was moving to block his path; barring the door and refusing to let the kittycon past.

Blast Off glared down on the smaller autodog, feeling his jaw clench. " _Move_ ," he hissed lowly.

"Only staff are allowed past this point," the vet snapped back.

"That is my  _bondmate_!," the siamese snarled, rapidly losing control of his temper. That urge from before -to dig his claws deep into the other mech's soft abdomen and tear- was returning, thrumming along his neural net like a siren's song.

The vet sneered at Blast Off's words, shoving against the kittycon when he tried to barrel forward at another one of Cosmos' miserable yelps. "I don't know what sort of 'fairytale' you're living but you are not coming into this room. Only the patient's family may see him after delivery and if you don't leave now, I will have the Enforcers personally escort you to jail!"

Grey optics flared brightly at the autodog's threat, chased by another shriek from his bondmate, this time calling out the kittycon's name with a broken wail. It happened in the blink of an optic: one moment the vet was sneering up at the tall mech; the next, the siamese had slammed him into the wall, servos covering his face as his claws dug deep into the other's helm.

"STOP!," a stern vocalizer yelled.

"Let the mech go or we'll shoot," a second chimed in.

With cool rage, Blast Off glanced behind him, his bright optics taking in the small congregation that had gathered around him suddenly. Six different security guards circled him on either side, tasers -not guns- out and aimed at the kittycon, while a gaggle of nurses stood back a few paces, watching everything unfold with horrified optics.

"Drop him or we'll fire!," the first security guard ordered.

He could slaughter them all so easily... Yet, Blast Off merely stepped away from the wall, allowing the vet to drop to the floor, hacking and coughing as his poor vents hurried to cycle fresh intakes. The security team believed it a smart opportunity then and there to step forward, handcuffs appearing from one mech's belt as they moved quickly to intercept the brown mech. The kittycon, obviously, was far quicker. In a flash, four guards had been disarmed and scattered around the wide hall while the remaining two shuttered their optics in confusion; realizing, belatedly, the siamese moving down the hall and to the emergency stairwell faster than a fleeting shadow.

By the time they could respond to the turn of events, Blast Off was already gone from the hospital grounds. The vet, after a quick check from the stand-by nurses, rose to his pedes with an angry wince and hurried back into the birthing suite to his screaming patient.

**xxXxXxx**

He felt tired. So exhausted... He could barely even keep his helm upright, the world around him blurred; one colour smearing into the next, unable to retain shape. How long had he been in this room? The pyrenees couldn't remember. He could not even recall his own name at this point. Every inch of his frame burned, as if the sensors had all been lit on fire and then sealed in a dome to melt away in the never-ending inferno. Vocalizers echoed all around him for quite some time, their words distorted static to his frazzled ears, but one by one, they began to vanish. Before they did though, cold, plastic-like servos prodded and pushed him about; moving him in a way that his unknown molesters were content with, a weight settling into his arms.

Muffled static mumbled at his left side, then it too was gone, leaving only the clammy wetness between his thighs and the writhing bundle that rotated further into his chestplates. What was that? The question flitted faintly across his jumbled processor. What did he now hold? Was it safe? Should he drop it?

As the pyrenees sat and contemplated the queer weight in his heavy arms, something sunk the right side of his berth, claws wrapping around his shoulders. "Cosmos," a soft vocalizer said, so hushed and deep and familiar. It repeated the name -his name- a second time, bringing awareness to the drained autodog.

"W-where... y-you weren't...," he hiccuped, optics hot as they overflowed with fresh coolant.

The claws brushed up his cheekplate, the other set cupping under his arms, searching for a servo. "There were some problems with the intake forms," Blast Off informed, his words soothing Cosmos with every utterance. "I did not wish to miss this. I regret missing this." His claws squeezed around the pyrenees' torso, reminding him of the bundle he carried.

"I-it's...?"

"Our son. I see," the siamese confirmed. "He is healthy. Recharging. He is tired from the long delivery, as I can tell you are too. Rest, my star. I shall see you when you awake, alongside your carrier and sire."

He didn't want to rest though. His spark cried for Blast Off; wanted nothing more than to curl into the brown mech's long, powerful arms and feel the thrumming of his own spark and be comforted by it. It had been horrible to be alone for even a short period. Yet, Cosmos' optics could not stay online any longer... They shuttered, dousing everything into shadows as he felt Blast Off tuck both him and the bornling in snug, a kiss ghosting across his forehelm.

"I-i don't want you...," the pyrenees tried to say in one final plea, his vocalizer beginning to fail next, "Go... this t-to end..."

Other vocalizers were returning to the room; the claws vanishing immediately, leaving Cosmos to lay alone in the berth, with only the company of his slumbering bornling.

"W-without you, I-i... b-be dead, ple-please... don't let t-this..."

It was time to recharge himself.

"E-end... Dead... end..."

**xxXxXxx**

It was an early morning in the post-labor ward. Only a couple of nurse were stationed at the desk, awaiting the upcoming shift change, when a brown kittycon stepped out of the elevator. The two nurses shuttered their optics at the mech dully, before one suddenly straightened up in her seat, elbowing her partner and pointing to something out of sight behind the desk. Recognition flashed across both of their optics; one rising quickly to intercept the siamese while the other hastily picked up the phone.

"S-sir? Sir! I'm sorry, but you're not allowed up here," the femme informed, throwing her arms out in a weak attempt to stop the brown mech. He kept walking forward until he was an inch away from her servos, before he paused, staring down upon her with his steely gaze.

"Is that so?," he quietly asked. "Perhaps you could elaborate as to  _why_."

The nurse shrunk beneath the mech, her knee joints knocking together loudly in her struggle to stay upright. "W-why?!," she squeaked, fumbling to come up with an excuse, "B-because, bec-cause... I-it's not yet v-visiting hours! Th-there's still t-thirty more kliks 'til t-then and only sp-spouses are allowed on the floor o-outside of th-those cycles."

The femme nearly fainted when the grey optics narrowed into thin slits, the kittycon bowing from his monstrous height to be more level with her. "How fortunate then that it is  _my spouse_  I am here to see. The pyrenees -which room is he in?," he demanded coldly.

As the nurse stuttered, the elevator doors pinged again, noting another arrival to the ward.

"There he is!," an annoyingly familiar vocalizer snapped. One glance informed the pair that it was the on-duty vet -the same one that oversaw Cosmos' delivery- and accompanying him, two large, burly Enforcers. The nurse was visibly relieved to see the trio but the siamese did not react... That is, until the elevator chimed once more, depositing a comical pair of autodogs onto the floor.

"Blast Off!," Lightbright squealed, her words echoing in unison with the vet's sharp, "Arrest him!"

The femme paused in alarm at the sight of the Enforcers, Dug Base angrily shifting the multitude of gift bags he carried as he waddled to catch up. "What's going on here?," he asked lowly, glancing from each mech present while a scowl carved deep into his lip components.

The vet turned a cutting gaze to the couple, sniffing disdainfully at the sight of them. "Excuse me but who are you? Non-patients are not allowed on this ward right now."

"Non-patients-," Lightbright gasped indignantly. "I am here to see my son and grandspark! What, is that somehow illegal now?"

The vet shuttered his optics in surprise, before a sickly smile was plastered to his face. "Oh! You're Cosmos' creators, then? Perfect," he cooed pleasantly, servos clapping in mild joy. "I'll be happy to escort you personally to the young mech, but first, I need to make sure this cat is arrested and charged for the criminal he is. So sorry for the inconvenience."

"Criminal?!," Dug Base bellowed this time. He pulled up to his mate's side, huffing and puffing at the sudden exertion. "That mech is no criminal- he is my son-in-law!"

Blast Off allowed himself the quickest of smirks as the vet coloured a nasty shade of plum, his hackles raising in ire as the Enforcers looked on, confused. "Nonsense!," he snarled, squaring his servos on his hips. "This thug attacked me- he nearly strangled me to death! He's nothing but a low-life and I will not have him near my patients just because of your poor judge of character!"

The Enforcers moved again at a snap of the vet's fingers, storming forward and grabbing Blast off roughly by both arms. Lightbright, her optics bright with horror, stared up at the brown mech in desperation. "I-it... it's not true is it, Blast Off?," she mumbled.

The siamese stared at her intently. "No," he replied flatly. "Quite the opposite actually. Not only did this mech interfere in conversations between Cosmos and myself, purposefully try to hide him from me and was physically aggressive to me when I did locate him again; he refused to listen that Cosmos is  _my bondmate_  and called me a liar. I do admit that I snapped at one point, when he implied that I would stoop so low as to  _rape_  and  _stalk_  Cosmos."

A stunned silence followed Blast Off's statement, until the vet opened his mouth again; his face a darker shade than before at the incredulously disgusted looks he was receiving from those present. "No real autodog would ever agree in sound processor to affiliate, let alone commit to consensual interfacing, with the likes of you!," he growled, glaring at the kittycon. "You're just trying to cover your aft and you've entrusted a couple strays into this charade, but I won't be fooled! You're going to rot away for a long, long time behind a set of bars and you'll never see that poor, disillusioned-"

The vet was cut off by a purse slapping into his face, throwing him into a stagger as he clutched at his face with a yelp of pain. Optics half-shuttered through the rise of coolant, he glared around the hall for his attacker, finding himself shoved again when Lightbright jabbed a finger into his chestplates.

" _'Disillusioned'?!_ ," she snarled, her gaze blazing with an enraged light, " _'Real autodog'?!_  You sad, disgusting, bigoted  _jerk_! That is my baby you are talking about! How dare you try to keep his bondmate from him just because he's a kittycon! And you made by baby go through a seven-hour delivery  _alone_?! You're fragging lucky my son-in-law isn't a criminal because I'd have you skinned from helm to pede for putting my lil' mech through that. And now you're trying to actually have him incarcerated?!"

The pyrenees shoved at the vet a third time, knocking him on his aft at last. "You racist slime! What else have you decided to 'fix', huh?! Did you remove Blast Off from Cosmos' personal records? Or did you not even bother to  _read_  them? What about my grandspark? Surely, he's a hybrid- did you plan on having that 'problem' taken care of before my son could protest too?!"

One of the Enforcers released Blast Off, catching Lightbright's arm before she could pummel the shaken vet with her purse once more. "Okay..," he sighed, nodding to his partner, "We'll take it from here, ma'am. Why don't you all proceed to the patient's room and we'll contact the hospital director."

"And you make sure he speaks to us!," the femme grumbled, swinging her bag back over a shoulder. "That grease stain is the reason there's so much wrong in the world."

The Enforcers replied with a calm "yes", sending the trio on their way as they collected the vet and nurses, making some calls at the hospital desk. The fluff of her tail all ruffled up in anger, Lightbright took the lead after a timid nurse gave them the room number; calming down only once they reached Cosmos' door. "I... I'm sorry for my outburst back there," she said, turning to face Blast Off.

"There's no need to apologize," the kittycon replied. "Your words greatly reflect my own thoughts and feelings on this matter."

"Yes, but to..." Lightbright tried to find her words but just ended up grunting in frustration, twisting the hem of her dress violently. "They made you miss the birth of your own son...?"

"You should have let us know when we texted you that we were coming down," Dug Base added lowly. "It's not right what that vet did. We could have demanded to talk the director before we even got here."

The siamese was silent for a long moment, staring at the door of Cosmos' hospital room. "I did not wish for the vet to be interrupted nor corrupt his duty towards Cosmos and our son. They are the first and foremost priority... though I will never forgive myself for not being there for him at such a critical moment. And I would kindly ask that you do not discuss why I truly wasn't able to be there during the birth, if you don't mind. At least," Blast Off finished, "For the time being."

Lightbright opened her mouth to protest but her mate cut her off before she could get the chance. "Let's just enjoy this morning, ok honey?," he urged, nudging her gently. "Our son's been through a rough night and is still recovering. Blast Off's right that we shouldn't bother him with this stuff right now; you know how he is sometimes."

The femme made a face at that comment, yet sighed, nodding. "Yes, I suppose you're both right. But I am seeing the director before we leave! There's no way I want that vet near my baby, or his baby, for the rest of their stay!"

No vocalizers rose to contest her and after a quick conference of agreement, the trio entered the room with smiles and expressions belying the earlier stress and anger they'd all gone through. The patient room was dim; the blinds drawn so as to keep the morning sunlight from seeping into the space and disturbing its two sleeping occupants. In the hospital berth slept Cosmos, his face a little worn but otherwise peaceful. In an elevated bassinet beside the berth, rested the swaddled bornling, also recharging soundly.

"Oh my goodness gracious!," Lightbright squeaked softly, padding over to the bassinet as Dug Base struggled to set down all the gift bags quietly, "Have you ever seen something  _so precious_?"

She gently toed the lock on the bassinet's wheels, pushing the entire cart over to the two mechs. As one, they looked down on the new bornling, staring at the little, maroon thing. "He looks an awful lot like you with those colours," Dug Base whispered from the corner of his mouth.

"He's tiny," the siamese returned.

The mountain dog smothered his chuckles as the pyrenees reached into the bassinet. "Bornlings often take after their carriers, stature-wise, in Light's family. But who knows? Maybe the pup will sprout up like you," he grinned.

"Well, I think he's the perfect size for cuddling," Lightbright cooed, holding the bornling in her arms now. The hybrid did not stir much during the transfer, giving only the tiniest, snuffling mewl before he curled up comfortably in the femme's arms.

"Light," the larger autodog groaned, "Couldn't you have waited until the pup woke on his own. I mean-"

"Oh, hush. He's my grandson. I need to-"

"Good morning, my love," Blast Off said, causing the couple to fall to a hush. He'd stopped paying attention to them some time ago, watching the slumbering pyrenees with rapt focus. He was the first to notice Cosmos stir, his optics slow to shutter open, revealing the early dawn sky for the kittycon to gaze on.

"Cosmos!," his creator greeted joyfully, huddling around the foot of the berth.

"How are you doing, son?"

"My sweetspark... You made such a gorgeous bornling! Have you thought of a name yet?"

"M-mama...? Dad?," Cosmos yawned, rubbing at an optic groggily, "Blast Off...? When did you get here?"

"We've been here for a little bit," the kittycon answered. He circled around the berth, perching on the edge as he pulled the astronomer to his side; mindful of his tubes and wires as he wound an arm around his waist. "We didn't want to disturb your rest."

"That's," the green mech yawned a second time, melting against the siamese's side contently, "That's okay. I'm not sleepy anymore..."

Lightbright chuckled, holding out the bornling towards his creators. "Good thing then- I do believe the lil' one is ready to eat," she beamed. "And you still haven't told us his name yet, honey! Do you have a list of possibilities? I have some suggestions if you're having trouble deciding."

Dug Base was fiddling with the hospital bassinet, thumbing out a piece of paper from the chart folder as Blast Off handed their son to Cosmos' arms; the dazed astronomer taking a moment to free the bornling from his blankets and wiggle between his chestplates for the feeding tubing.

"Um, name... I don't..."

"Says here, his name is 'Deadend'," the mountain dog piped up.

"...Deadend?," the siamese repeated, his expressionless mouth turning down slightly with a frown. The large autodog nodded.

Cosmos canted his helm as the hybrid snuffled in for a feeding, his brow furrowed in half-awake puzzlement. "Did I... Maybe I named him last night? I don't remember...," he mumbled, glancing down on his son. "I think I must have. Well, Deadend is a lovely name, don't you think Blast Off?"

Anxious looks passed between Lightbright and Dug Base as the green autodog smiled up at his partner, but their exchange was ignored by the kittycon as he bent low and softly pecked his bondmate's helm. "I think your opinion is correct," he replied, cycling in the pyrenees' scent when he snuggled a tad closer. Looking at Cosmos' creators, the brown mech noted that they now wore smiles on their concerned faces; Lightbright clapping her servos together and gently shoving her partner towards the gifts.

"Yes! I think it's a great name," the femme chirped. "Now, before you finish feeding and head back to sleep, let's check out the gifts your dad and I brought! Even the neighbours sent over some things, along with their blessings."

Cosmos smiled as his creators began to open the gift bags on his behalf, while Blast Off watched on. His grey optics continued to steal glances at the little hybrid though when he was sure no one would notice; his processor replaying the prior conversations with silent concern.

**xxXxXxx**

The orn was finally over.

Blast Off sat on the hospital berth, Cosmos lifted onto his lap and resting on his abdomen. The entire floor had fallen into silence a few cycles ago as visiting hours ended, but the occasional bornling cry and intercom announcement could be heard out in the hall. In their room, though, the quiet was never once broken.

Not only was his son minuscule, but he was also a silent one too. The kittycon could be content with that, he mused, gently pushing the bassinet away from the berth. The director had made his presence known earlier, promising that the vet would be suspended and an investigation run, while the nurses involved would go through a re-training period. A course of action, sure, but not one Blast off was happy with all the same. He wanted nothing more to do with any of the staff in this hospital and as long as no one made a peep -the bornling especially- none of the nurses would even need enter their room.

In the morning, he could take Cosmos and the bornling home. The only nuisances to be had there were the rare call from his sire. Blast Off returned his attention to the green mech, claws stroking through the ruffled fluff of his tail tenderly. The bornling sported one just like his carrier's; his an odd shade of grey, tinted purple if one squinted just right in the light. There were quite a few similarities between the hybrid and Cosmos... If life was fair, it would not give his son the same personality.

Anything that could not bring happiness to the pyrenees would not be condoned in his optics, the siamese knew. At the moment, despite the little hiccups, Cosmos' spark swelled with joy at the life they had created. His vibrant lil' star in a worthless world. Blast Off let his optics shutter partially, hypnotized by the sight of his mate, so tranquil and still a tad plump around the middle from carrying for several months, wrapped tight in a killer's claws.

Yes, he thought, dipping forward to kiss a cheekplate faintly, any and all sins were worth committing for this mech.

But perhaps 'Deadend' could prove his initial feelings wrong in time.

**C.M.D: And that FINALLY concludes Blast Off and Cosmos' personal adventures. With their story arc complete, I can put a little more time into _'Merry Go Round'_ , where their baby Deadend and the rest of the stuntibabies will have many crazy adventures of their own as they grow. Boy... What a finish to these two, huh? Anyways, stick around for another chapter featuring dear Rodimus or pop a glance at the stuntibabies fic if you haven't yet! And as always...**  
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


	38. Rodimus V

**C.M.D: Last chapter of this wondrous October update period; extra long, just as I said! Again, there is some more MATURE scenes in this chapter, so for all my readers looking for a more SFW update, head on over to my ff.net account to find the censored version (link available in my profile). Otherwise, enjoy dear followers!**

**Title: Rodimus V  
Rating: M**

The morning was hot and dull. Fingers moved slowly in his valve, stretching the supple walls as they circled lazily, pulling out long, tacky strings of lubricant to massage around the outer protoflesh before sliding back deeply once more. Rodimus repeated the previous actions, occasionally dragging a sharp finger along interior nodes, feeling the thrumming flames of another overload lick at his exhausted neural net. He wanted more... so much more... But Blackout had locked him away when his servos had gotten a little too close again, leaving the apartment sometime in the night. Self-indulgence had alleviated a bit of the aching, but dawn had risen cycles ago. A change would be needed very shortly.

As if hearing the autodog's passing thoughts, the sound of the deadbolt turning loudly in the silent apartment had Rodimus scrambling to get off the berth; throwing himself at the door as he caught the panther's familiar musky scent. "Blackout? Blackout, let me out! Oh, please? Please? Please, please, please! I need you, Blackout. I can't frag myself with fingers forever! I want your spike. Need it! Primus, please, let me out Blackout. I'll do anything you want! C-come frag me, please. Oh, please..."

He knocked, scratched and gyrated at the door, lip components tasting wood as he spilled his pleas against the grain. The shallow desire for overload had erupted into an inferno, lighting every sensor within the golden retriever as soon as he knew Blackout had returned; desperate to find relief against the blazing pain. Fingers were already dragging down the door, heading for his fluttering valve, eager to close around something solid and warm when suddenly the door wrenched open, knocking Rodimus back. He rolled once, hitting the edge of the berth with a grunt, trying to clear the stars from his optics. Looking up, the lawyer noticed Blackout standing in the doorway, staring down at the autodog with fervent, beady optics.

The sight excited the red mech; hurriedly, he spread his legs wide, a servo reaching to stretch his wet valve. "It's been waiting for-" Rodimus was cut off as something was hurled into his face.

"Get dressed," Blackout hissed out once the golden retriever managed to yank the clothes from his helm. He bared his fangs when Rodimus tried to lunge at him hungrily, a pitiful whine escaping the autodog when he was smacked down for his efforts. "I said put them on! We're going out."

That made the lawyer pause in his misery, turning to the pile of clothes he had discarded and picking them apart. He found a white dress shirt and one of his navy suits and ties in there; puzzled, he looked up at Blackout.

"Why-?"

"I need you looking nice," the panther gruffed. "Take a shower while you're at it."

Heat pooled in the golden retriever's array. Fingers caught in the thug's jeans as he nuzzled closer, optics sparkling up at the kittycon longingly. Rodimus did not pay mind to the frustrated glare Blackout sent him in return, much too merry in his delusions. Maybe the brown mech enjoyed a 'bot in a suit? If that was the case, the lawyer would dress however Blackout wanted him to, so long as the panther finally dug his massive claws into his willing frame. Rodimus stole another nuzzle and grind before the thug had enough and physically dragged the autodog to the washroom, shutting the door and leaving him to take care of matters himself.

It was the quickest the red mech had ever washed.

**xxXxXxx**

Fully cleaned and frustratingly clothed, the golden retriever followed after Blackout as they left his little apartment. Every time he tried to close the distance between them, the panther shoved him back, nearly sending the lawyer to the floor on three different occasions. Finally, Rodimus stopped trying, picking at his tie as they descended the building staircase. "Where are we going?," he asked, chewing at his bottom lip component.

It was so aggravating having to stand beside the larger mech and not be touched.

The kittycon didn't turn to face the autodog. Rodimus swallowed a grumble, picking up his pace when Blackout hurried out of the building first, strutting purposefully down the street. The weather was nice, the lawyer noted faintly, optics roving over the panther's broad shoulders and lengthy, black tail. The golden retriever canted his helm. If he gave it a tug, would Blackout knock him to floor? Madness nibbled at the back of his processor. He should do that, Rodimus reasoned, he-

Blackout grabbed him suddenly, surprising him again as he seemed to be doing often that orn. Before the red mech could even stutter out a question, the thug was yanking open the door of a limo parked beside them, throwing the lawyer into the back seat.

"Wait, who-?" The door slammed shut behind Rodimus before he could even finish his enquiry, startling the poor autodog. He whirled around to grab hold of the door handle when he heard a series of loud thunks echo throughout the car -the locks activating- the vehicle then peeling away from the curb. "Stop! Let me out!"

"Now now, my boy," a familiar vocalizer crooned. "Settle down and buckle up. You're in no danger."

Rodimus turned to snarl at his abductor but froze instead, finally recognizing the old mech sitting on the other side. "M-mister mayor...," he croaked, feeling suddenly very ill, "What... H-how did you know w-where I was?"

Alpha Trion gestured silently to the lawyer's seat and, chastely, the younger mech slid back to his proper position; grabbing the seat belt and buckling in. "I-i... I think there's b-been a misunderstanding," Rodimus continued hesitantly, trying to maintain optic contact with the old autodog and failing. "I d-don't work in your offices anymore. I-in fact, I left I-iacon altogether."

"I am aware," his companion spoke up, reaching into a mini bar on the car's side wall. He grabbed a bottle of sake, pouring out two glasses, taking the second and leaning across the open space. "Here," he insisted, pushing the cup into Rodimus' numb servos. "Drink this. You look like a wreck, my boy."

The golden retriever lifted the glass to his mouth uncertainly, scowling at the bitter taste. But under the watchful gaze of Alpha Trion, the younger mech made sure to down every last drop; silently grateful when the mayor did not refill his cup. "Things have b-been... rough..."

"Quite," the other autodog vented, finishing his drink and pouring a second. He pulled a cell out with his free servo, his thumb moving across the touchscreen as he talked. "Well, I suppose it's unavoidable. Thankfully, my stylist will meet us there. She won't be able to do much on such short notice, but at least she'll clean you up a bit better. Fix that slag-awful mess of knot that you call a tie..."

Rodimus felt chills slither through his sensory grid. "W-what?," he chuckled shortly, an edge of hysteria colouring his tone. "What short notice? Meet where? Wh-where are you t-taking me?"

Alpha Trion's gaze was cool as he regarded the lawyer. "To the grand court of Iacon, of course. You have an appointment to appeal the decision on your son's custody," he supplied.

The effect was instantaneous. "N-no. No. No, no, no, no, no, no," the golden retriever hyperventilated, fingers scratching at the black leather seating. He snapped his helm side to side, shrinking further and further into himself as the earlier nausea tripled; threatening to rip up out of his throat and spew all over the car floor, along with his fears and grief. There was no way Rodimus could go back! He couldn't keep his son the first time -he definitely wasn't going to win anyone's favours this time, now that they believed Ultra Magnus was a saint.

"L-let me out!," he begged, twisting and hammering at the door again. "P-please! Just let me go back! I won't be any trouble! I can't-"

"Stop," a strong vocalizer snapped, grabbing hold of the red mech's wrist. Rodimus tried to yank free but his captor only yanked harder, turning the younger autodog back around to face the mayor. Ice blue optics stared fiercely into the weeping mech's own, and, slowly, Rodimus felt his panic start to shrink. "Calm your mind, my boy. You are not alone anymore," Alpha Trion said, low yet surely. "All will be well.  _Trust me._ "

And... he did. The fear was still there, clutching at his spark and driving an unshakable chill into his frame, but as long as he gazed back into those unflinching orbs, Rodimus would not cave under the weight of his own doubts. Seeing that the younger autodog was in better control of himself now, the mayor nodded, leaning back in his chair as he released the lawyer and lighting a pipe. The oddly pleasant scent of tobacco filling the car, Rodimus shifted tensely in his seat, his optics on the older mech as clutched at his pants anxiously.

The drive to Iacon was longer than he recalled... and yet, when they arrived at the court house some odd forty or so kliks later, still not long enough.

**xxXxXxx**

"I-i... I don''t want to go in. I can't."

Rodimus stared at the court room door, feeling his tanks clench painfully. He glanced at the wall-mounted clock in the hall, debating if he could still escape. A gentle, but firm, servo gripped his shoulder; Alpha Trion leaning around the younger autodog and opening the door.

"I'll take the lead, my boy," the old mech answered amicably, guiding the both of them forward, "No need to worry."

_'Yeah, right,'_  Rodimus wanted to snap back, but his glossa wedged tightly in his mouth when he saw Ultra Magnus already seated at the plaintiff's desk. His pedes immediately attempted to turn around and run. Alpha Trion's grip merely tightened, pulling the golden retriever to the front quickly. Ducking his helm, Rodimus hurried into a chair, hoping that he would be ignored. It did not seem as though fortune was on his side.

"I'm sorry," Blackarachnia spoke up, smugness in her poisonous vocalizer, "But this is a  _private_  legal matter. I'm afraid you'll need to find another room to shoot your civil servant montage in, Mr. Mayor."

Alpha Trion smiled, setting his briefcase on the table. "Oh no, my dear, I am not here to film a public announcement. In fact, I am here as Mr. Rodimus' attorney."

A series of stunned gazes circled around the room. Claws tapping loudly at the tabletop, Blackarachnia fixed a pinched smile to her usually scowling visage. "Well," she drawled, "That's a lovely sentiment but a license is required to represent an individual in any civil affair and-"

"You mean such as this one?," Alpha Trion interrupted, pulling a laminated card from his briefcase. "It has been a while since I retired, but my services and my license are still valid, as deigned by the federal system. Which, if you would kindly correct me in the off-chance I am mistaken, means that I can act on Mr. Rodimus' behalf during these proceedings despite my current occupation."

The femme was glaring daggers at the mayor but before she could retort, the overseeing judge, previously olfactory-sensor deep into the case files, lifted his helm and adjusted his collar with a loud cough. "Whether or not you have a valid license, Mr. Trion, I regret to inform you that this case is already closed," the magistrate said. "Mr. Rodimus had his chance to defend his case but the proceedings of that orn, and the list of the defendant's transgressions, have enabled him unfit in the role of the bornling's guardian. We are here at this time merely to delegate this fact to your client; not argue over semantics."

The knotting in his tanks had gotten worse. Covering his mouth quickly, Rodimus desperately hoped not to purge, or worse, begin wailing right then and there at the table. Blackarachnia was smiling again beside the ever-silent Ultra Magnus while Alpha Trion ignored her, directing all his attention to the judge.

"Be that as it may, my client is still privy to a proper hearing and the assemblage this orn is to allow him a chance at reform before the final verdict," the old autodog proclaimed. "And given that my client was wrongly accused during the last meeting, I dare say he is more than justified at having his side of the matter heard!"

The judge stared on for a long klik, while Ultra Magnus leaned over to whisper something to Blackarachnia. The femme brushed the larger autodog off with a snap of her wrist, her narrowed optics watching Alpha Trion intently.

"Very well, Mr. Trion," the magistrate caved, "Please present your case."

Alpha Trion nodded solemnly, opening his briefcase a second time and pulling out a folder. "The last time my client attempted to defend himself, he did poorly. Understandable, as his bornling had just been removed from his care, and he was under emotional distress," the old autodog began. "I do not argue the point that it is the duty of my client to prepare for his hearing but I would like to bring to attention the unethical justification in the confiscation of his sparkling."

The mayor opened the file folder, fingering the first page within. "Two months ago, the bornling Hot Shot was removed from Mr. Rodimus' care and put into sparkling protective services. The reports given by the agent suggested that the bornling was removed on suspicions of neglect and abuse. I have here a copy of both the local vets' reports and SPS' evaluation, showcasing that Hot Shot was the healthiest any sparkling could be. Good weight, up on all his shots, keen and alert... Photographic evidence, supplied by my own client, even shows that Hot Shot's home was designed to meet all of his growing needs. Given the available information, SPS should have taken no longer than a week to run a thorough investigation and, given the anonymous tip was proven false, returned the bornling back to his creator's care immediately after. There was no need to progress further to family court. Instead, a hearing was scheduled the very next orn to contest Mr. Rodimus' guardianship over his own son  _less_  than twenty-four cycles after the bornling had been intercepted."

"Your honor," Blackarachnia interjected tersely, "It is policy that SPS arrange for next of kin to care for a sparkling as young as Hot Shot, as energon-linked caretakers have shown in studies to provide the best -mentally and physically- for young sparks. It also keeps from overwhelming foster homes, which house many sparklings of an older age and therefore are less equipped to take care of a fully dependant bornling. It is well within my client's rights to file for custody, given the surprising manner in which he discovered that he was a sire."

"And what fitting luck," Alpha Trion remarked, his gaze cool as he glanced toward the femme, "That a custody hearing was schedule the very next orn at the same time that Hot Shot was collected, allowing Mr. Magnus to find out a few cycles beforehand and to be here promptly, with yourself on hand my lady, to place his bid for full custody."

The judge knocked his gavel on the desk crisply, cutting off any scathing comments that might have left the black hybrid's mouth. "Mr. Trion," he spoke, scowling in frustration, "Do you have any sort of evidence to support those accusations you are inferring to?"

"No, your honor."

"Then may I suggest you stick to real facts and keep irrelevant conspiracies to yourself!"

"Of course, your honor," Alpha Trion replied, inclining his helm respectively to the magistrate. He shuffled through the papers in his servos in a calm and languid pace. "The plaintiff's representative grossly accused my client of being a criminal, going so far as to infer him as a sexual offender, tipping the previous judge's favour toward herself."

"Objection!," Blackarachnia hissed. "I relayed only the facts to the last magistrate. She spoke to the defendant and, based upon his own admissions, found him guilty."

The judge scowled, flipping through the files resting before him. "...There is no evidence of such a report made," he replied.

"But of course not," the old mech continued, walking forward and holding out the folder for the judge. The magistrate glanced at it momentarily, before taking it, spreading it across his desk and flipping through the pages himself. "As the plaintiff himself confessed last hearing, he 'did not want to file a report because of the history we share'. The history being, as noted before you, his own guardianship over Mr. Rodimus during the sudden absence of his creators in his youth."

"Mr. Magnus, as a servant of the law, why did you not file a proper report?," the judge demanded, glowering at the pair irritably.

Ultra Magnus straightened in his seat, his lip components separating minutely to speak. "I had gone through a rough period, I admit, of shameful drinking and experienced many nights of little to no memory. I wasn't aware of what had transpired between Rodimus and myself until much later. Much too late for a proper forensics test, either."

"We have already discussed this," Blackarachnia tacked on, arms crossed over her chestplates defensively. "The defendant took advantage of Mr. Magnus during his inebriation-"

"Took advantage of him?," Alpha Trion cut in. His tone was mockingly aghast. "Perhaps the course of action has changed in sexual assault suits, but the law dictated in my youthful orns that a matter of supposed intimate deviancy may not be brought forth into other civil cases until it had processed by the proper affiliates. Failing to file a report with the authorities or even undergo examination and forensics, all we have is the plaintiff's word that he was the victim of the bornling's creation -and he himself has no clear memory of that night or any events prior! Mr. Rodimus, do you have anything to add to the plaintiff's claims?"

The old autodog was looking at him now. Rodimus, having been listening to the proceedings with an anxiously thrumming spark, glanced up then; keeping his attention fixed solely between the judge and Alpha Trion. "I-i...," he mumbled, struggling to keep his vocalizer from fading out, "I n-never raped Mr. M-magnus. H-he... I-i was assisting him to t-the berth when h-he overpowered me..."

"And there in lies my point," the mayor said, allowing the golden retriever to drop his helm meekly. "The plaintiff clearly has no idea what happened when he was 'black-out drunk'; given my client's smaller size and his clearly obvious actions in fleeing Iacon following the events, it is quite possible that the plaintiff was the sexual assailant!"

Another crack of the gavel dissuaded any further remarks following Alpha Trion's statement; both lawyers waiting patiently as the judge picked up his pen. "Ms. Blackarachnia, it is the fault of your plaintiff and yourself for bringing such unsubstantiated charges to my bench and lengthening this already weary case. I am marking them off the record; I want only facts, not you or your client's opinions!"

"Yes, your honor," the femme responded, lip components twitching to hide her snarl.

The magistrate looked over the files, his pen moving occasionally as it followed along, before he laid it down. "Your client has a number of disparaging accounts against him still, Mr. Trion," he said, glancing up at the mayor. "Fraud, assuming legal duties under an uncertified identity..."

"Also false, your honor," Alpha Trion answered. "Apartment, cellular plan, bank accounts... They were all open, using his original papers and supported by the current ones he possesses now. Either identities are viable, as they are his own; one given to him at birth and the other supplemented when he went into the witness protection program."

"It says here that his case was unsolved," the judge frowned. "'Possible underground ties... suspicious disappearances...' These are serious matters, Mr. Trion. Given the openness of the case, it is ridiculously unwise for your client to resume using his former identity. It puts himself and the bornling at risk. And despite being a valid identity, Mr. Rodimus is still not allowed merely to transfer his credentials from one name to another without filing it through the proper channels first!"

"Agreed. My client's hastiness to switch to his old moniker were brash decisions made to keep from being followed by the plaintiff, once again inferring to a strained relationship between them. As for his credentials and imposing as a civil officer, I can assure you that it is not the case. In the folder before you, is a letter from my client's recent employer and a breakdown of his duties in their law firm. All were secretarial; not a single one required the individual pass the bar exam to execute them."

Silence descended as the judge flipped through the papers again, mouthing unheard words as he read quietly to himself. With a sigh, he closed the folder and shuffled everything together in one pile, beginning to rise. "We shall adjourn for a short recess. Please see to any matters that you need to in this time," he announced. "The hearing will resume in fifteen minutes once I've had time to overlook these latest reports."

And with a flap of his black sleeves, the magistrate left the room through the door in the back.

"Come," Alpha Trion smiled at the huddled autodog, "Let us get you a drink and some fresh air." Rodimus opened his mouth to protest, feeling as if he had no legs with which to support himself with, but the old mech simply grabbed his elbow and quickly guided him up the court room aisle, as though the younger lawyer was nothing more than a cloud. Seeing Ultra Magnus also stand as they headed for the doors, Rodimus suddenly found his pedes and took the lead as they entered out into the central hall.

He did not break his pace until they reached the cafeteria.

**xxXxXxx**

" _In light of the matters presented before me today, I am hereby summoning an in-home evaluation to take place -the date which will be set following this hearing- and given that Mr. Rodimus meets all SPS requirements, granted dual-custody of the bornling in question to be effective immediately."_

"I... I can't believe it..." The golden retriever burst from the court room, a wide smile across his face as he kept pace with Alpha Trion. "C-custody... I-i get custody again!"

"Shared, my boy," the old mech gently pointed out. He stroked at his beard as they walked, seemingly off-put by that fact. "Shared is not really the result I'd hoped for, but I do not blame the poor magistrate for feeling jerked around. Blackarachnia certainly has a forked glossa on her..."

Rodimus was barely paying attention, his vision of the long hallway blurred by the tears filling his optics. "P-primus... I c-can't... To h-hold him again," he wheezed, hugging himself. The red mech choked on a bubble of bittersweet laughter, recalling the way Hot Shot felt when cradled in his arms. He was going to have that back again! But what about all that he'd missed... Rodimus shook his helm quickly, rubbing at his face to clear away the tears. He would not think about that. He'd won. Alpha Trion had won! Soon enough, he'd see his son; hold him; hug him; kiss him. That's all that mattered.

"Rodimus? Are you listening?," the mayor asked, his tone slightly exasperated.

The golden retriever coughed, turning his attention to the old mech. "S-sorry, sir, I-i just...  _My son!_ "

"I am aware," Alpha Trion replied, chuckling a little himself at the childish grin splitting the younger autodog's face. "But we're not quite in the clear yet. You have to pass the social worker's inspection and, as the judge mentioned, you must negate all use of your previous identity until the case is solved or you have properly applied for transfer via the courts. Now, I have the list of guidelines here and-"

"Rodimus!"

The thunderous shout echoed throughout the court house, bringing any prior soft conversations to an absolute hush. Spinal struts ramrod straight, Rodimus turned slightly to meet the great dane marching through the foyer to intercept them. Ultra Magnus' fists were clenched at his sides; optics sharp with displeasure and his deep scowl carved down to nearly his chin. With all the frightening pace of an oncoming bullet train, the large mech closed the distance between them, brushing up against the smaller autodog as he towered over him. "What do you think you are doing?!," Ultra Magnus demanded, his vocalizer just falling short of a bellow.

Involuntarily, Rodimus gave a flinch. "I don't-"

"You refuse to answer my calls. You won't see me," the blue mech snapped, his optics boring into the younger lawyer as he flinched again, "Now you bring Alpha Trion into this; play me as a fool before the courts and judges -judges that I spend more time before on the job than you ever will! And for what?! Are you so petty that you will use  _any_  excuse to run from your problems instead of facing them like the mech I raised you to be!?"

"I-i-"

"Do not give me your back-talk!," Ultra Magnus interrupted a third time, a stern finger raising along with his words. "We are discussing the future of  _our_  son here! I will not-"

"Enough," Alpha Trion intoned, pulling Rodimus back a step and sliding between him and the looming great dane.

Ultra Magnus' torso swelled as he cycled intakes rapidly; the heat of his optics intensifying as he stared down upon the old mech. "Excuse me, Alpha Trion but this is a private matter between Rodimus and I, and-"

"I said,  _enough_ ," the mayor repeated, the pitch of his vocalizer absolutely frigid to the audios. Though his posture had not changed, the atmosphere around the older autodog thrummed with silent warning. "You, Mr. Magnus, shall defer to me as 'Mr. Mayor' and no more. And as far as my client goes," he added, leaning up into the blue mech's face, "You will refrain from calling, texting, emailing, faxing and any other means of communicating with him, until the court has finalized all custody procedures. Even then, the only time with which you may contact Mr. Rodimus is in regards to young Hot Shot's affairs. Continue with your current course of action and we will swiftly see you in court for harassment, stalking and any other misdemeanours you have or have yet to commit. With such charges on your record, I believe it'll be very unlikely you'll retain custody of 'your son'... Isn't that right, Ms. Blackarachnia?"

The femme, who had been standing in the background, watching quietly as the events unfolded, glowered nastily at Alpha Trion as she was addressed. It was a look that spoke volumes of her complete hatred toward the older mech. She managed to pry her jaw open after a lengthy moment though, hissing a "Come along, Mr. Magnus," before turning back up the hall they had originally come from.

Ultra Magnus continued to stare down upon the old autodog and his foster son with -anger? Disbelief? Betrayal?- then he too was turning about, following after the sharp click-clack of Blackarachnia's heels. Only after the pair had disappeared from sight completely did the mayor turn to face Rodimus again, his entire expression softening. "Are you alright, my boy?"

Coolant burned hotly in his optics as the golden retriever painfully uncurled his shaking fists, unaware that he'd clenched them so tight as to leave cutting dents in his palm. "Y-yeah...," he choked, paused, forcing out an even intake and wiping quickly at his face as he looked to the floor, "Yeah, I-i... I'm fine..."

Clearly he wasn't, but Alpha Trion did not press. He stroked at his beard, bouncing his briefcase against his knee in signal before walking calmly towards the courthouse doors once more. Quietly, Rodimus followed. "I'll monitor the progress on your case; have my secretaries forward you any news the moment I receive it. The priority for now is to give your home a thorough run-down, ensure all is to SPS' codes, and you'll pass the inspection with flying colours!," he informed cheerfully, heading down the long concrete staircase to his limo, sitting patiently at the curb. "So let's get to the house while the orn is still young and double-check that list!"

The red mech nodded absentmindedly, climbing into the back of the limo when the old mech held the door open for him; buckling up and staring at his knees while the vehicle pulled away. It was only after they drove onto the highway that Rodimus finally processed what the mayor had said last, his helm snapping upwards with alarming speed. "I'm sorry, did you say... h-house?"

**xxXxXxx**

Twenty-five kliks later, the limo was rolling to a stop outside a line of townhouses, on a quiet avenue lined with young saplings. "W-where... where are we?," the golden retriever managed to vocalize, turning his befuddled gaze from the window and towards Alpha Trion. He'd been watching the streets intently, trying to get a grasp of their heading for a while now, but he'd clearly missed any road signs indicating where they were and recognized nothing.

"Hm? Oh, yes," the mayor huffed, seeming to have roused from a sudden nap. He, too, turned and looked out the window with a smile. "This is Ibex. I know, it's fairly easy to forget. Outside of the racing circuits, people don't usually take the time to visit the city and its other businesses."

"Ibex?" That name was familiar. Rodimus frowned slightly, his brow furrowed. "But... Why am I here? I have nothing in Ibex!"

Alpha Trion's smile broadened. "That's changed now, my boy. Come along," he instructed, reaching over and opening the door. Ignoring the younger autodog's frustrated look, the old mech slid out of the limo, strutting casually up the avenue while Rodimus scrambled out of the backseat after him.

"Sir, I really-"

A servo lifted up, cutting the golden retriever off. He paused, watching peculiarly as the mayor turned to one of the townhouses and began ascending the lengthy staircase up to the front porch. Slowly, Rodimus let his optics rise, taking in the structure before him. It was a three-story home; the bottom level the garage, the top two the remainder of the actual house. It had cream-coloured vinyl siding with large bay windows in pristine, white trimming mounted on the bulk of its face; a few extra square windows added in the remaining empty spaces to allow for plenty of natural light. A narrow concrete planter sat in the open space between this townhouse and the one it was physically connected to, spilling over with vibrant purple hydrangea bushes. The garage door was painted in candy red with shining brass numbers advocating its street number but when the lawyer looked to see if the front door also matched in colour, he was stunned to find a big, brown panther blocking his view.

"What is he doing here?!," Rodimus snapped, bounding up the townhouse stairs two at a time. Blackout, sitting on the concrete steps, dressed in his usual leather coat and puffing away at a cygar, suddenly took notice of the pair coming up the staircase; quickly squashing out the rest of his cygar and straightening to his full height.

Alpha Trion ignored the indignant mech behind him, nodding his helm in greeting to the kittycon. "I presume everything is prepared?," he inquired, to the silent shock of his companion, servos folded before his abdomen.

"Yeah," Blackout answered, smoke spewing from the corners of his mouth as he spoke. "Just finished bolting in the last of the gates. Berthroom might still need a few kliks to air out. Uh, here's the keys." He dug deep in one of his coat's pockets, knocking balls of lint, bits of leftover food and even a dead roach out of his servo, as he handed over a keyring to the mayor.

"What?," Rodimus yelped, his optics flicking back and forth between the two older mechs. "Why is Blackout here? How do you know him? Why are you here?!," he spat last, rounding a glare onto the panther. The thug scowled back, his jaw clenching tightly shut.

"Now, now, Rodimus," Alpha Trion tsked. "Let's not be rude, shall we? Your friend was the one who brought my attention to your unfortunate case regarding Hot Shot. If not for him, I would not have been able to help you as I did this orn. And as for why he's here, currently, well, I asked him to handle some tasks for me while we were busy at the courthouse."

A cold stone dropped into the pit of the lawyer's fuel tank. "W-what... what tasks? Blackout is not my friend!," he added quickly, forcing another glare the panther's way as a means to distract himself from the fear wriggling nauseatingly in his gut.

The older autodog shuttered his optics quietly at the statement. "No? Oh, well... Anyways, come along! There's some matters we can discuss while we take a tour of your new home," he continued cheerfully, scooting past Blackout's bulk as the thug tried to squeeze out of the way, and right through the open townhouse door.

The golden retriever gave the kittycon one last, hateful glance as he also shuffled past the thug, keeping his tail tucked down tightly to dissuade any attempts at grabbing it. All thoughts of Blackout, and the schemes he had planned, flew right out of Rodimus' helm the moment he stepped past the threshold -the townhouse, he discovered, was not as empty as he had expected. In a daze, the red mech wandered through the hallway, passing through the living room, dining room and into the kitchen, marveling at the sight before his optics. Everything. The house had everything. Each room had been furnished with everything Rodimus could have ever wanted or needed, and even some items that he would never have thought to purchase himself. The lawyer came to a pause at the kitchen counter, looking out onto the modest-sized yard, a little jungle gym with swing, perfect for a small sparkling, already constructed on the grass. Rodimus cycled a shaky intake, gripping the counter as vertigo hit him. This... He could imagine living here.

"Come, come," Alpha Trion urged from the staircase, its mouth opening up into the kitchen. "Up this way!"

Rodimus went after him, still stupified. The second landing was equally as dressed as downstairs: the main bathroom, the linen room with brand new washer and dryer, the master berthroom complete with its own private bathroom... All filled to the brim with new possessions. Even his old, ratty suitcase was there, sitting on the freshly made berth. This had to be a dream, the golden retriever contemplated distantly. There was no way this could be happening to him right now! He snapped from his thoughts for a moment as he heard a vocalizer clear loudly from across the hall; peeking out of the master berthroom to see the mayor standing at another door.

"I believe this is the room you most want to see, dear boy." Quietly, the red mech crossed over, walking inside hesitantly as Alpha Trion swung the door open.

The moment he stepped inside, Rodimus felt every intake rip from his frame in one, shaky gasp. Still smelling of fresh paint, four baby blue walls surrounded him. On the floor, hardwood peeked out between a plush white rug and a patch of multi-coloured foam tiles. A rocking chair sat between the crib and changing table, perfectly nestled in the sunlight pouring through the white and blue curtains. A bookshelf and toy bin, already filled, sat flush against the wall at opposite points of the room, featuring cute depictions of rabbits that appeared periodically on the walls and even the closet door. The closet -not too be forgotten- already had clothes hanging, ready and waiting, with spare hangers standing by. It did not escape the autodog's notice that many of the items had come from his own nursery. "T-this...," the lawyer choked, feeling tears fill his optics as he pressed a servo to his mouth, "This i-is..."

"Your new nursery," Alpha Trion supplied, stepping inside. He paused beside the golden retriever, not saying a word or otherwise acknowledging the younger mech as he hugged himself, overcome with emotion. "You needed a good home for your pup and yourself," the mayor went on, stroking his beard casually as he looked about. "This one should meet all of the social worker's requirements and more. Plus, with the new job you don't want to be traveling long hours on the road, missing out on-"

"J-job?," Rodimus sniffled, interrupting the other mech as he looked up. "What do you m-mean new job?"

Alpha Trion gave a mock huff at being cut off, but his smile informed his companion that he was not serious. "Well, you can't obviously remain in that other town or your place of business once it comes about that you used a fake identity, meaning you'd require a fresh start, so I took the liberty of making some calls. The spaceport needs a new lawyer for their legal department -they've been making advancements to the old labs on the eastern side of the city; exploratory science beyond Cybertron's surface is the next big thing, you know!- and seeing as you are familiar with a lot of Iacon's own scientists, I put in my recommendation and they thought you'd be a great fit. I actually have..."

The old autodog trailed off for a moment as he reached into the interior of his suit jacket, pulling out a thin packet of papers, unfolding them before nodding and handing them over to the shocked Rodimus. "The information for your starting orn and a quick run-down of what you'll need, etc etc. I know the work isn't quite what you're used to, but we do need something within your skill set quickly, so as to get young Hot Shot returned to you as soon as possible. And again, you'll likely end up working with some previous associates back in Iacon, so it's a much smoother transition than looking elsewhere."

His servos were shaking as Rodimus took the packet from Alpha Trion. "Y...y-you're not joking," he stuttered, the tears pooling in his optics again as he faced the mayor. "Y-you... T-this is really a-all mine? M-my home? M-my baby... M-my baby's room? A-all of it? Real?!"

The old mech smiled broadly, stroking his beard. "Yes, dear boy. Everything has been taken care of. Now- Oof!" Alpha Trion was cut off suddenly as Rodimus threw himself at the wizened autodog, arms wrapped around him tightly as he buried his wet face into the other's chestplates.

"T-Thank you! Oh, Primus! Th-thank you so much, s-sir!," the golden retriever wheezed, dissolving into a fresh bout of tears.

"There, there...," Alpha Trion sighed good-naturedly, patting the younger mech's back until Rodimus had finally regained his composure. "Now," he went on when the golden retriever pulled away, glancing at his wrist watch, "I'm afraid that I can't stay longer. Things to take care of at city hall and all that... You should take this opportunity to see the rest of your home and get settled. There's a grocery store a few blocks down and some pleasant local diners too, which will solve your dinner problems for tonight."

"O-ok," Rodimus vented, wiping quickly at his face for the umpteenth time that orn. "T-thank you. Really. I just..."

"I understand," the old autodog replied, pulling out his cell and sending a text. "I must speak to Blackout before I... Right. Have a goodnight, my boy," Alpha Trion grinned, holding out a servo. "You take care." The red mech clasped the mayor's servo, giving it a hard squeeze and shake, before they separated; Alpha Trion exiting the room with a quick but purposeful gait.

Despite his better judgement, the golden retriever quietly followed at a slower pace, tip-toeing down the staircase. He paused, noticing that Blackout had moved his way into the house; he stood in the kitchen, smoking another cygar as Alpha Trion approached him.

"You know, that's not really the best habit," the mayor commented.

The panther grunted. "Don't really recall askin'..."

"Consider it 'unsolicited advice'. Anyways," Alpha Trion said, reaching again into his suit jacket. "Here you go: a couple thousand credits for your time. You actually did a better job than I anticipated with the painting. I'm especially impressed that the only holes in the walls were the intentional ones." The thug's upper lip component curled a little at the back-handed compliment, but he remained, for the most, part silent as the older mech handed him a folded envelope. "Now, I'm heading out. Do you require a lift back to Iacon?"

"No," Blackout answered, shaking his helm. "I can manage on my own."

"Hmm...," the autodog hummed, not sounding overtly convinced. He didn't say anything more though than a farewell and to instruct the panther to contact city hall should there be any future troubles, and left; the sound of the front door clicking softly shut behind Alpha Trion's exit.

An astrosecond after the sound, Rodimus was flying down the stairs, shoving into Blackout roughly. "What the slag are you doing?!," he growled, pushing the panther again. "Running to Alpha Trion? Telling everyone my business! What else did you say, huh? WHAT ELSE!?"

Blackout barely even rocked at the autodog's shoves, his face pinching irritably. "I only mentioned Hot Shot! Nothing else... Heesh. As for what I'm doing, the old coot asked me here. Said I could make myself useful, do some fixing-upping. Promised I'd get paid too," he answered.

"Oh, isn't that  _so slagging charitable_  of you! Well, I don't need your help!," Rodimus snapped, turning away from the thug. He threw open the fridge door, slamming a couple of cupboard doors as well, venting his anger and distracting himself from the others' presence. The recollection of the way he'd acted around Blackout in the last month burned in the forefront of his processor, the shame making him sick to his spark.

The brown mech grunted, puffing harder on his cygar; shoving Alpha Trion's envelope into his coat somewhere. "Yeah, I know," he grumbled as the lawyer turned to him again.

"And  _that_?!," the red mech blew up anew, rounding on the panther. "You fragging smoke now? Put that out! I will not have you poisoning my home!"

Blackout glared at Rodimus, finding his sudden hostility both baffling and incredibly annoying. Ignoring the autodog's request, the thug fished deeper into his coat, pulling out a familiar rabbit plushie. Rodimus snatched it away at once, pressing it to his chestplates as the kittycon took another puff. "You could be a little nicer, ya know, seeing as I got the old fart to win your pup back," he said, "But sure, hate me and not Magnus, when I've only ever-"

The panther was silenced momentarily by a pede kicking the side of his mouth, causing him to stagger back a few steps. Blackout stared at the floor, dazed, as Rodimus regained his balance following the roundhouse kick. The golden retriever wasn't finished though and he lunged forward, fist swinging out for a punch that did not land. Something snapped inside the thug and he reacted at once; grabbing the flying fist and yanking its owner forward. Rodimus managed a gasp before his helm was caught in one massive servo, Blackout keeping momentum and throwing the autodog into the floor next. Cycling heavily, the panther refocused on reality, processing the situation that had just transpired; a stone of dread dropping into the pit of his fuel tanks as he realized it was Rodimus that he had slammed into the tiled floor.

"A-are you...?," he started nervously, pulling his claws slowly off of the red mech's helm. Rodimus bucked the moment the panther's servo began to lift from his frame, kicking the thug's elbow and shoving his claws aside. Blackout roared out in pain, deflecting the servo trying to chop at his fat neck cables next; snarling as he threw the autodog back into the kitchen cupboards this time, with a loud thunk.

A brown ear twitched atop his helm as he rubbed at his throbbing elbow. Had he just heard...? The lawyer had gathered his senses again and was attacking a third time, clutching a frying pan he'd pulled from one of the lower cupboards. The panther grabbed Rodimus' wrist and servo in his mighty claws as he took a swing at the larger mech, squeezing until the golden retriever's fingers gave way under the crushing force with a pitiful yip, allowing the pan to clatter to the floor. A chilling scowl on his face, Blackout forced the autodog back to the tile floor; grabbing at his pants with his other servo and yanking so hard that the fabric ripped away in pieces.

The red mech began to kick wildly, his other servo clawing to free his captured wrist, all while screaming curses and threats at the thug. The kittycon ignored them all, having already spotted the naked valve -wet and uncovered for all to see. Heat bloomed immediately in his codpiece. With a flick of his servo, Blackout flipped Rodimus onto his abdomen, holding the lawyer down by the centre of his back as his other servo fumbled with his pants' zipper.

"Fragger!," Rodimus shrieked. "Let me go! G'OFF!"

Fresh lubricant trickled from the rippling walls, oozing down a red thigh and to the kitchen floor. The panther licked his lip components, his efforts doubling as he looked upon the tantalizing sight hungrily. Finally, with a wiggle, he'd managed to get his pants down enough so that the zipper teeth would not scratch the underside of his spike; letting it unsheathe in all of its fat glory, pulsating and damp at the tip. Rodimus snarled, bucking once more, and at the precise instant his aft lifted into the air, Blackout struck forward -sinking into the soaked valve with one, fell swoop! The autodog's curses cut with a choking yip; a keen escaping clenched denta as he was stretched so suddenly.

The panther worried for a fraction of an astrosecond if his rashness had hurt the lawyer... Oh, but it had been  _so long_  since he'd last felt the tautness of Rodimus' valve surround his spike, drawing him in with grasping swallows. Grunting as the kittycon braced himself properly on the floor, he grabbed for the golden retriever's wrists, holding them to the tile as his hips pumped back and forth quickly. Sounds spilled from Rodimus' mouth once more as Blackout climbed to a rapid tempo -not the demands and shrieks of violence as before, instead wanton cries of need drawn forth between warbled, pitiful names and broken insults. The thug brushed them all aside until he'd overloaded hard... Then he frowned sullenly as he thrust his hips slower, Rodimus crashing through his peak once, twice, before the kittycon eventually ground to a complete stop.

So this was how it was going to be, Blackout noted. Him and the red mech were back at square one.

The panther glared, feeling a wave of anger, annoyance -a whole bunch of stuff he didn't know- rise up within him, causing every sensor to itch ferociously. He needed to get out. Walk. Punch someone. Do something other than be here right now. Spike retracting back into its housing, Blackout rose to his pedes quickly, yanking his pants up while the golden retriever still lay prone on the kitchen floor. He was so vulnerable in this position, beautiful, and those little huffs as his intakes reset...

No, the kittycon snapped at himself silently. He was out of here. The autodog be damned. Lighting up a new cygar, Blackout stalked from the townhouse, determined to catch the next city bus back to Iacon and move on with his life. That would be the sensible thing to do.

But, like the idiot he was, the panther knew he'd be right there the moment Rodimus called for him. To be used however the red mech wanted. No matter the cycle.

**C.M.D: Ah~ Such a deliciously heavy chapter. Intense court room fights, confrontational fraggers, hate sex... Perfect! And with all this, I am sad to inform, that this is the end of Rodimus' story. I know, I know... It's so bittersweet, is it not? Alas, such is life sometimes! But, my dear readers, let's focus on the good: at least Rodimus got his son back, even if he missed out on a happily ever after. It is time for moi to move on to other things... and complete/start the hundreds of stories buzzing in my head. Anywho, this concludes October's updates! Happy Halloween everyone! And as always...**   
**Be kind; give me your mind~ REVIEW, please?**


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